


Magic Can't Fix Everything

by sirsquidfish_thefirst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bi!Mary, Bi!Molly, Cussing, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sherlolly Big Bang 2015, fistfights, warning was for that idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsquidfish_thefirst/pseuds/sirsquidfish_thefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Casting a look back at her parents, she slowly got up and trotted to the door, narrowing her eyes at it slightly once she reached it. Though she had been around the thing her entire life, nothing had ever seemed more mysterious to her. A quiet cough behind her forced her gaze back to her mother and father.</p>
<p>  "Molly...you need to go back to bed, dearest. It's late. Just let us take care of it—"</p>
<p>  She blinked at them. "It's for me," she said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing at the moment, then Molly wrenched the door open without another word.<br/>~*~<br/>(An alternate title: Or How Sherlock and Molly Fall for Each Other at a School Full of Wizards)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Can't Fix Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This was a really fun event to be a part of. The organizers were very kind and helpful, and my beta(s) and artist were also terribly nice. SBBC should be a big hit, and I hope my fic is an acceptable contribution.  
> I'd like to thank my beta, Rachel, for her hard work and commitment to my fic. Even when I was freaking out about the little things, she was there to help me. I'd like to thank my artist, Katch (majesticlolipop on tumblr) for her hard work on the art and my super helpful techno friend that helped me out when google docs was glitching out, Kate (vermofftiss on tumblr, I believe). Thank you both so much for your hard, hard work. Finally, I'd like to thank the organizers for SBBC. You guys are awesome. This is the best Christmas present I can ask for, to be honest.  
> Please enjoy this work of art taking place in the HP world. There's a lot of AUs like this out there, but...what's the harm of just one more?  
> EDIT: here's the accompanying artwork for the fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5463335/chapters/12629429  
> Thanks so much, Katch! They're all beautiful. Not gonna lie, made me tear up when I saw them in all of their glory. Bless.

Molly blinked in disbelief down at the roll of parchment in her hands, then to the owl, then to her equally shocked parents. She'd read the letter at least fifteen times now.

"I'm a wizard." She paused, then shook her head. "N-no, I meant...I meant a witch."

The words sounded outlandish, even to Molly. It was impossible. Her parents, well...they were as normal as they could get, she supposed. Even so, she looked to them desperately for some sort of explanation, yet they couldn't offer one.

Uncomfortable silence was only broken by the owl that had delivered the message hooting and diving through the open window into the sunny day beyond. Somehow, that owl looked familiar, but she just couldn't put a finger on why...

"It says that I've been accepted into...Hogwarts?" Sounded like a medical condition. She should know, having a doctor for a father and a psychiatrist for a mother.

_Focus, Molly._

Once again, she looked up at her mother and father with a furrowed brow. They still seemed to be trying to get over the fact that a bird had flown into their kitchen in the middle of breakfast, landed on the table in front of Molly, and stuck its foot out obligingly. On it had been a little scroll. 

Molly swallowed hard, feeling her throat tighten as she felt tears well in her eyes. "Please, I don't...say _something_ ," she said quietly. 

Her father was the first to move. He knelt in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder with a small smile. "Molly, it may be a well-practiced joke," he said quietly. "Witches and wizards and...er, _Hogwarts_ don't exist. I've never heard of them in real life. Only in stories."

Her hands trembled as Molly once again looked at the paper in her possession. Yes, it indeed confirmed her acceptance into the wizarding school of Hogwarts. The next page listed items needed for the school year. At the very end, there was a note stating that a messenger was going to come and explain to her and her parents what was happening. It looked as if it had been scribbled onto the parchment hastily.

Molly Hooper glanced out of the window hopefully, as if to will such a messenger into existence. No such luck. Her shoulders slumped slightly.

Her father sighed and looked to her mother helplessly. In understanding, she picked up Molly and carried her to the living room.

"There's supposed to be a messenger coming," Molly said.

"That's nice, dear."

"I'm not making it up. It's in the letter." She waved it in front of her mother's nose for proof.

Smiling, her mother deposited Molly on the sofa. "Well, perhaps I'll have to read that letter," she crooned. "Cheer up, darling. It's your birthday today. You're turning eleven, isn't that exciting?"

When her mother began tickling her sides to induce at least a trace of a smile, Molly started giggling. The raspberries on her stomach that her mother blew made the girl laugh even harder.

"Tobias, where's that cake? Or did you already eat it all without us?" Her mother called teasingly, leaving Molly to gasp for breath between giggles.

"You two haven't got a shred of patience, huh?" The voice of Molly's father grew closer, and suddenly, he was hovering upside-down over Molly, cake in hand. She righted herself with a soft grunt and stared starry-eyed at him.

"See? I can manage without assistance, Talia." Grinning, he sat the cake on the coffee table and settled himself on the other side of Molly, kissing her temple. "Happy birthday, Mols," he murmured.

The cake was rather pretty. It was in her favorite colors: blue and pink and purple. As she blew out the candles and her parents applauded her, the parchment in her hand slipped to the floor silently, and with it went the strange thoughts of a world containing wizards.

Her mother had given her a stuffed rabbit, and her father had given her a red silken dress. "We're going out tonight, you could wear it then," he suggested to her as Molly nibbled at her piece of cake. "We'll go wherever you wish."

Molly shrugged a little. "I don't...really want to go anywhere. I just want to stay home. Sorry," she said quickly at the fallen look on her mother's face.

Her mother quickly sobered up her expression and smiled. "It's fine. We could just watch movies instead," she replied to Molly, wrapping her arms around her daughter and planting a kiss on her forehead.

Molly stared out of the window. Today was a nice day. "I want to go to the park," she announced.

"Good choice, love."  
~*~  
_Bang._

Molly bolted upright in bed, rubbing her eyes before peering at her clock. Three in the morning. She shivered a little. The middle of the night—well, the beginning of a new morning, she supposed—was always the creepiest time. Nothing seemed to breathe or move. Everything was asleep.

Apparently not everything, or everyone. She could hear her parents starting to move down the hallway. Molly wriggled from bed and slipped on her robe before padding out of her room. She made her way down the staircase and to the living room to discover the source of the noise. Her mind was working away at trying to figure out possible suspects.

At first, all Molly could come up with was a gunshot. Perhaps it was some sort of rodent rummaging around in the trash again, and it had managed to knock over one of the bins? No, it wouldn't have been as loud as the noise made earlier. Besides, what was big enough in her neighborhood to knock down full bins of rubbish other than people?

Round chocolate eyes peered into the night beyond through the front window. They scanned the yard once, twice, then Molly decided to start nosing around in the back.

"Molly, hon, what are you doing out of bed?" She stifled a yelp of surprise and spun around to see her father standing on the last step of the staircase. "Did the noise wake you as well?"

"Someone shot something." To Molly, it seemed the only logical answer, though she could think of no one who owned a firearm in her area. 

That statement seemed to take her father by surprise as well. He blinked blearily at his daughter. Meanwhile, Mrs Hooper was following in her husband's footsteps to see what the ruckus was about.

"Do you think it's a burglar?" Molly's mother whispered to Mr Hooper.

"Hi, Mum. Someone shot something," the girl repeated insistently. Surely that was the answer.

As her parents discussed in low, urgent voices what to think of the experience, her attention was drawn to the windows once again. First her gaze flickered to the window on the left side of the door, the one closest to her. Molly saw that a few lights were on in some other houses, but that was all that was unusual for that bit. However, when she turned to look at the right window, she saw something that made her gasp.

There was a figure shrouded in the shadows eyeing the Hooper family through the glass. It seemed to be particularly interested in Molly. Her mouth opened, her eyes widened, and that was all the person needed to vanish into thin air.

Shock rapidly turned into a burning fear. "Mum, there was, there was a man...a man standing at the windows and he was looking right at me and then I blinked and he was gone and—" Her rambling was cut off by the knocker on the door ringing through the house. Silence filled the spaces between.

_Crack. Crack. Crack._

The noise rang then faded. Molly glanced at her parents. They looked dumbstruck as to why someone would visit at the hour.

_Crack. Crack._ More insistent now, almost impatient. 

"We should answer it. It'd be rude not to." Why was Molly saying this? For all she knew, it could've been an axe murderer like people usually depict on telly. Something in her gut told her that she should open the door, however. She was going to go with her gut feeling, no matter how very risky it seemed.

Her parents exchanged looks. "Molly, we don't even _know_ of anyone who'd be up at this hour," her mother said worriedly.

"So? I think we should open it anyway."

"What your mother is trying to say, Mols," her dad cut in before her mother had the chance to open her mouth again, "is that the cons outweigh the pros. Go back to bed, and we'll call the police."

Frowning, Molly glanced to the door. To her, it seemed almost as if the person outside was listening terribly carefully. 

She bit her lip. While her father indeed had a good point to it all, her curiosity still prodded at her. She felt as if _she_ had to be the one to open the door, that _she_ was the one that the stranger had come for.

Casting a look back at her parents, she slowly got up and trotted to the door, narrowing her eyes at it slightly once she reached it. Though she had been around the thing her entire life, nothing had ever seemed more mysterious to her. A quiet cough behind her forced her gaze back to her mother and father.

"Molly...you need to go back to bed, dearest. It's late. Just let us take care of it—"

She blinked at them. "It's for me," she said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing at the moment, then Molly wrenched the door open without another word.

There on the doorstep stood a short, squat woman. She was clad in an odd mixture of clothing styles: a woolen scarf hung around her neck over a peach blouse, which complimented a pair of silk baby blue pajama bottoms. Over all of this was a classic black traveling coat.

Though her attire was laughable, Molly could sense that she was a very powerful woman. Her kindly brown eyes met Molly's gaze, and the woman smiled. "You must be Miss Molly Hooper, I presume?" She asked in a voice as sweet as honey. Molly could tell that the gentleness wasn't fake, so she nodded.

"May I come in? I don't want to seem rude on our very first meeting, of course. Are your mother and father around?"

Molly shot a hesitant glance back at her parents. Both were staring wide-eyed at the woman in a mixture of apprehension and disbelief. The girl then turned her attention back to the woman still standing on her doorstep. "Yes. They're both on the sofa. They weren't expecting company this late," she informed her, stepping back and allowing her to enter the house. Her eyes followed the woman's journey into her home before continuing inside herself.

The woman glanced around and smiled warmly. "What a lovely house you have, Mr. and Mrs. Hooper," she cooed, turning to face Molly's parents. Both of whom, Molly could see, were still trying to process the entire situation.

Finally, her father spluttered, "Miss, I don't know who you are, but bursting into _our_ house uninvited, at _this_ hour—!"

"Oh, how inconsiderate of me!" The lady gasped, and she swept to the sofa then held out a hand for at least one of them to shake. Neither one did. Slowly she pulled her hand back and cleared her throat. Her cheery demeanor never waivered. "I'm Pomona Sprout, professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Nice to meet you," she continued.

Molly's heart leapt in her chest at the words. "So Hogwarts is real?" She asked , her eyes widening in excitement.

"Of course not, Molly. This is nothing but a sick joke," spat her mother from the couch before Pomona could speak. She leapt up to jab a finger at the professor. "I don't much appreciate the little tricks you've been playing with my girl. She's been nothing but hopeful for things that don't exist. Perhaps you should leave before I seriously lose my temper."

Professor Sprout's face darkened the slightest bit. "Perhaps, before you make assumptions, you should at least wait for me to tell you all of the story. That's why I'm here: to answer questions and inform you about who your daughter is and why we, at Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic, have taken a special interest in her," she replied calmly. "Now, please take a seat, madam."

Mother scowled at the professor, but she sat back down on the sofa. Apparently satisfied, Sprout turned back to Molly, her expression once again warm and compassionate. "Dearest, you may want to take a seat. It'll take a while to explain all of this. Shall I make tea?" Once again, she turned back to Molly's parents: Mother was still frowning, but it wasn't as severe as it had been. Father, on the other hand, looked almost weary and cautious.

Silence met Molly's ears as she sat down on her mother's lap. Sprout piped up cheerfully, "I'll take that as a yes!" and pulled what seemed to be a wooden stick from an inner pocket of her cloak. Her father made a sudden movement accompanied by a shout of rage. Did he think it was a weapon? Maybe so; he had been one to suggest that this oddly-dressed woman had been a burglar. 

But his yell was cut short. Instead of using it in malice, the woman waved the stick, and on the coffee table in front of them sat a teapot, cups and saucers. Beside the china sat a plate of biscuits. 

No one spoke. Sprout hummed cheerfully under her breath as she poured them all tea. Next thing she knew, the cup of steaming liquid was settled in Molly's hands, the steam billowing up. Sharp intakes of breath were being taken by her father, and her mother sat rigidly on the sofa. Molly could feel her mother's gaze sweeping over the scene.

"Certainly you three have questions, being a family of a scientific background," the professor said languidly. With another wave of the stick, a chair was procured from thin air, and the lady sat down, expertly balancing her tea on one knee while she reached for a cookie. Was that a _wand_ she was using? Molly wondered.

"How did you—"

"Well, it's really quite simple, Mr. Hooper. You're a doctor. Your wife's a psychiatrist. I'm quite fascinated with the Muggles' way of explaining magical happenings, it's really quite interesting."

On the coffee table in front of Molly's parents rested two cups of rapidly cooling tea. Neither touched them. In fact, the both eyed them warily, as if the mugs would suddenly spring to life and harm them. Molly smiled secretly at the thought, then she sipped at the warm liquid. Three sugars and a touch of cream, just how she liked it. She decided that perhaps this woman was to be trusted.

"Go on. You all have questions. Ask away," Pomona told them. She relaxed back into her seat and grinned at the three of them. This alone made Molly burst with the first question.

"Are you a witch?" To this, the professor nodded. Molly furrowed her brows. "So was that a wand you were using earlier?"

Pomona pulled the wand out from her cloak to show the small family. "Pretty, isn't it?" She murmured to Molly with a wink.

"Will I really be able to get one for myself?"

"Yes, dear. You're a witch, and every good witch needs a good wand."

Her mother made a twitching movement beside Molly. She had either wanted to say something but held it back, or she had moved to get a closer look at the wand. The words that spilled from her made the young girl decide that it was the latter of the two. "So...Molly really is a wizard?" Her tone was tentative, as if she still believed that it was all a hoax.

"Witch," corrected Sprout. She sat back before smiling pleasantly. "I can assure you that this surely is not a joke, Mr. and Mrs. Hooper. Your Molly is as magic as the sky is blue."

"Prove it." All gazes turned towards Molly's father. He met their eyes steadily, one by one. "It's not that I don't think it's all real," he started slowly, "but it'd be better if there was physical proof," he finished. Molly could tell this was a blatant lie, but she couldn’t tell if it was for her own benefit or for Professor Sprout’s.

Everyone's eyes now turned to Molly, who blushed at the attention. How in the world was she going to prove that she was indeed a witch? God, she wished it was real, but there wasn't a way that Molly could see this as a reality. However, before she could stammer out an excuse, Sprout came to her rescue once again.

The professor's expression was filled with a sort of bewilderment at Molly's father. "Perhaps I don't understand the physical world as well as you do, Tobias, but I know very well what I'm talking about. Do you not remember how many owls peered through the windows at night? Did Molly never tell you about the one who always seemed to visit weekly and sat on her windowsill, watching her? What about the incident with the plates in the sitting room? And the dog? And, perhaps if you really wrack your brains, you could _possibly_ remember whenever Molly's bully's foot caught in the swing and was left there for the rest of the afternoon waiting for help?"

Her father, who had flushed a deep red at being called by his first name so conversationally, turned a darker shade at the revelations. "The owls were migrating. That's why there were so many. Molly never told me about an owl at her window—"

"To be fair," Molly interrupted quietly, "I was afraid that you two would dismiss seeing an owl looking at me with a sense of intelligence about it as hallucinations due to lack of sleep."

"—and the plates in the living room were moved by a small but major earthquake—"

"Dad, they _flew across the room._ "

"—the dog was scared off by Molly—"

"He was the size of me and looked hungry as he chased me. I pointed at him, and he stopped then wandered off."

"—then the bully was just too caught up in his antics to see where he was going."

"Jo knew the swing was there, Dad."

"That doesn't matter!" He finally snapped. "There's an explanation to _every_ happening, whether it's plausible or not!" Desperation was sinking into his expression and voice. His scientific side had gotten the best of him, yet the satisfaction of knowing he was right was nonexistent in his figure.

"Mr. Hooper, indeed there are explanations for everything," Pomona began softly, something akin to pity on her face, "but perhaps they're not the explanations you think they are."

Father opened and closed his mouth a few times, then, defeated, he sunk back into the cushions, rubbing at his face. "Would you care to tell me what they are?" He inquired after a moment. Sprout gave a small shake of her head in affirmation.

"As I’ve stated multiple times already, your daughter is a witch. The owls weren't _migrating_ , they were keeping an eye on Molly for the Ministry of Magic, which is the head of government for all of the magical community. Unless something terrible is happening that connects the two governments—Wizarding and Muggle, I should say, and Muggle is a word which describes the non-magical community—by magic, ours is separated from yours. In dire situations, the Minister of Magic contacts the Prime Minister, then they form a plan together to protect as many people as possible.

"It's been a couple of years since the last time that happened. I won't go into the details, but the wizard that had caused so much havoc and death was defeated by a baby boy. Poor thing lost both of his parents." She paused to shake her head. "Nevertheless, it's all been cleared up. The Muggles would have passed off the events as abnormal happenings but nothing more than that. I'm getting off track, aren't I?"

Molly's mother seized the chance to sputter out her thoughts. "Why wouldn't the government, yours or ours, tell us what was really going on?"

With a sigh, Molly turned to peer into her mother's face. "Do you remember what you and Dad did when you saw the letter and heard what the professor had to say? Do you _really_ think the public's reaction would've been any different to your own? Could you imagine how much paranoia would've plagued the country?" She retorted. Molly relished the slight blush on her mother's cheeks but soon turned back to Pomona. "Please continue," she said politely.

The older woman cleared her throat. "To continue, those strange events weren't coincidences. The owls I've already explained. Molly, did you notice that the owl who sat at your window for so long was the same one who delivered your Hogwarts letter?" 

Molly hesitated before nodding. She remembered now: it had been a beautiful horned owl, with light chestnut feathers and a darker shade for eyes; she had been too shocked to notice it before. Sprout went on with her story. 

"The plates flew off the table because of Molly's magical interference - if I'm not mistaken, she had been irritated? Anger is often a big factor with experiences like hers. Because she was young and had no control of her power, there was no way she could've stopped it. It wasn’t her fault."

Molly glanced down at her feet in shame. She had gotten furious over something as small as breaking a toy. Still, the professor _had_ said it wasn't her fault; she had had no mastery over herself. Then again, the china had been her late grandmother's...

" _Not_ your fault, Molly. Don't guilt yourself into thinking it was. Anyway, both with the dog and the bully Molly had acted out in self defense, unconsciously or not. Both events were assumed to be mere coincidences. But really, it's pretty hard to get tangled up in a swing _that_ badly, and a dog who's chasing somebody probably won't immediately wander off because the person pointed at it," Sprout explained. She poured herself another cup of tea and helped herself to one more biscuit. "No, these 'coincidences' didn't happen by chance. It was, once again, a byproduct of Molly's uncontrolled abilities, that time triggered and fueled by fear."

All the information sunk into Molly's head at once. On one hand, it made sense that the reason her bully had mysteriously become trapped in the swing's chains wasn't the effect of his stupidity. Yet Molly still couldn't fathom how she had become a witch in the first place, so that was what ignited her next few questions.

"Let's say that you hadn't monitored me with owls or had been informed of my mishaps and whatnot. Would you still know that I was a witch? How did I become like this in the first place? Was it some sort of birth defect, or is this something that runs in the family?" Molly rushed them out, one by one in a sort of clutter. They hung in the air as they disentangled from each other so the adults could understand what she was asking.

Finally, Pomona pulled a piece of parchment from a pocket in her traveling cloak. She unfolded it before adjusting it in her lap. She held it up for the family to see, one hand pointing at certain images on it.

A rather large tree sketched on the paper in ink unfurled, its many branches snaking across the page to either stop short or continue growing until they covered the entirety of the material. Gasps were quietly shared between Molly's parents as the girl stared at the tree, transfixed. She didn't know that images could move like that. Had they always been able to move? Expectantly, Molly looked around the living room before settling her gaze on a painting of a park during winter. Nothing moved.

The professor was gazing at Molly in amusement when she returned her eyes to the witch. "Muggle paintings don't move unless they're bewitched to do so. Magical ink allows the pictures to move, and with the right enchantments, the words can be manipulated. You'll be seeing more and more of it as the years pass," she said softly, winking at Molly jovially. Pomona then tapped her finger on the tree, bringing the family's attention to it fully. 

Molly now saw it was a literal family tree, with her ancestors being the trunk, so to speak, and the rest of the long line of the Hooper family were the branches. There were people on the tree that Molly had never heard of, yet she had been related to them somehow. Beside each name was a small portrait of the person. They all waved and smiled and scowled and sneered, depending on which ancestor she looked at. Beneath it bore the dates of the person's birth and death. Next to the portrait were the letters M, WH, WD, S, or E. 

"As you all can see here, this is the complete version of your family tree up until today. Every fact has been double and triple checked as to track down where exactly the magical blood began in this little group." Professor Sprout's finger moved from the side of the page to the very base of the trunk, where two figures grinned up at the four. 

_Emporia Scant. 1645-1671. WH._

_Thomas Ender Hooper. 1640-1669. M._

Molly's eyes traveled to the thin line connecting the two, then she followed the line traveling up to who she assumed was their only child and son. "So these are my ancestors?" She asked softly, tapping her fingers against her thigh. 

"Obviously, your family's beginnings had a _much_ later start than others. For example, the Holmes family have a long history. They—"

"Who?" Her father piped up from the couch, gaze still trained on the tree.

"I'm sure that you'll all meet some descendent of the Holmes family eventually. Molly's the likeliest to meet them, as the Holmeses have always attended Hogwarts, even from the very beginning. I remember the very first time I met Siger, he certainly was a charmer—"

"What do the initials mean?" Molly interrupted. She really didn't need to hear about romantic stuff at the moment. Right now, family history was the most interesting thing beneath the sun...besides being a witch.

Traces of a blush lit up Sprout's cheeks while she blinked down at the parchment. "Oh. The initials? They're quite simple. 'M' is for Muggle, 'WH' is for Witch, 'WD' is for Wizard, 'S' is for Squib—they're persons of a magical heritage, yet they never inherited the powers; quite looked down upon, which is disgusting to me—and 'E' is for Exotic, meaning part-werewolf or part-veela. Far as I can see, you're from a very, _very_ long line of humans, Molly," she murmured.

Sputtering erupted from one side of Molly. Her father had suddenly turned very pale. "There are werewolves, too? They...they really exist?" He managed to squeak out. "And what the hell are _veela_?"

"You'd think that by now you'd at least partially believe some of what I say," Pomona retorted patiently, earning a giggle from Molly. "Yes, werewolves exist, but _most_ are harmless. Veela are very beautiful creatures, often taking the form of a gorgeous woman, and in some cases, even men. They can easily turn into harpies if provoked.

"Now back to your family tree. As you can see, on your side, Tobias, you had no magical family members. But your wife...her grandmother was a witch. Yes, Molly," she sighed before the young girl could speak, "your great-grandmother was a witch. Dana was a great woman, excelled in all of her classes. However, because she married a Muggle, her two children—Una, Talia's mother, and Arnold—were Muggles themselves. There were traces of magic in their blood, but not enough to make them witches and wizards."

Sprout motioned down to the weathered material. Next to Molly's great-grandmother was a neat little "W", but her children both had an "M" as well as her husband. The line that branched from Molly's grandmother trailed down to her mother and her two brothers. Her mother and her younger uncle both had an "M" as well, but next to Molly's now late uncle was an "S". From her mother was another branch that carried Molly herself, and her heart leapt in her chest when she saw "WH" beside her name. 

"I...I didn't know that my brother had been magic." Mother's voice was soft, conveying an almost hurt tone. 

"He was a Squib. He had magic coursing through his veins, but he had no abilities. Your family didn't know because they _really didn't know_. No one ever took the time to tell you, but somehow, some horrible people found out. Talia, a group of terrible wizards found out about your brother and why he couldn't do magic. As I said before, Squibs are looked down upon, seen as lesser to those who are selfish. Your brother didn't die from a heart attack. He was murdered. Did anyone in the Wizarding community stop by to tell you what truly happened? No. Because no one cared about a dead Squib. Leave it to the Muggles, they thought. Let them struggle through it with no true explanation.”

"I didn't find out about it until recently. I'm sorry." Sprout's words hung in the air like an acrid and bitter stench. Molly felt her mother trembling beside her. No one spoke for a while.

Molly couldn't stand to listen to the heart-wrenching silence, so she instead spoke. "So I'm magic because my great-grandmother was a witch. That's...that's impressive. And here I thought that the Hooper family was nothing but a bunch of gits," she joked lightly. Her parents made a snorting noise at nearly the same time, which was a little gross but cool all the same. 

Another one of Sprout's kindly smiles lit up her face. "Trust me, your family is _anything_ but a bunch of gits." She sat up, then took her wand from her cloak once more. She waved it, and the clutter from the tea cleared up instantly. Nothing was left on the table that would've hinted at the fact a tea tray had been there moments before save for little rings where the teacups had sat. Suddenly, she clapped her hands together and peered around at the three. "Lovely chat. Now, we really must get down to business."

"Can I have the family tree?" Molly suddenly blurted. A blush covered her cheeks while she tried to explain. "I-I mean, if you're done with it, of course. I just want a closer look at it is all."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her father fighting back a smile. She had indeed inherited his sense of curiosity. Meanwhile, Sprout was rolling up the parchment. When she was finished, she raised a brow at it, yet she handed it over to Molly without a word.

"Keep it safe. You never know when you might need it," the professor said softly, and Molly nodded eagerly. "Seriously, now. We need to discuss what's happening with the whole Hogwarts business.”

"September first is when term begins. I'll come by in a few weeks to take Molly to Diagon Alley so she can buy her school supplies and uniform. You both should come as well, because next year, I'll have to help other students. To get to the train that departs for Hogwarts, you'll have to travel to King's Cross Station, then get to Platform nine-and-three-quarters. Yes, it exists, Mr. Hooper, so do close your mouth before you ask another silly question. Summer break, when we get there, will be a nine week period. Christmas and Easter breaks can either be spent at home or at Hogwarts. Most students prefer to go home for Christmas and stay for Easter, but however it works out will be fine with the staff.”

"Be warned, though: ghosts _do_ inhabit the castle, but only one is relatively threatening. He's a troublemaker of the worst sorts. Last year, he set a professor's hair on fire. Don't worry about him bothering you specifically, but if he does, report him to the teachers, and we'll take care of it."

With a rustling of fabric, Pomona got to her feet then peered around at the family. "I must be going now. Do make sure to not mention this to any other Muggles. They'll send you straight to a doctor. I hope that you're well prepared mentally to come to Hogwarts?" She cooed, directing the last phrase at Molly, who made a hum of acknowledgement. Sprout nodded once then headed towards the door. 

"Professor?" Molly tentatively piped up from the sofa. The woman turned to face Molly. "Where's my school supply list?" She continued sheepishly.

The professor beamed. "It was with your letter. Where's your letter?"

"...Not a clue."

"Ah." Sprout nodded. "Didn't think it was real. Forgot," she sighed. She pulled out her wand for a final time and waved it once. A paper shot out from underneath the couch into Pomona's other hand, covered in dust bunnies. Sprout blew off the dust then handed it to Molly. "Keep good care of it, love," she said quietly.

With one last grin to the family, Pomona swept out of the door. Moments later, another loud bang sounded, similar to the one that had started this whole mess earlier.

Quietness fell. Then Molly's father murmured on one side of her, "Molly, go back to bed," and thus ended the fiasco that had ensued that night. The little girl went to bed with her head crammed full of thoughts. She didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

~*~  
Molly stood stock still, trying to take in everything at once. Owls hooted, people murmured, and doors creaked and slammed shut as families and individuals entered and left shops.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Hoopers! We'll find everything that Molly will need for Hogwarts here. Take a look around, go on," chirped Sprout. Out of the corner of Molly's eye, she could see her parents glancing around skittishly. This was still very new to them all, anyways. She decided to continue to gorge herself on the sights around her.

"Let's see, we'll go fit Molly for robes first, then we'll get her the books...what do you think, Mr. and Mrs. Hooper, surely you two have opinions..."

Molly was only listening idly to the professor; she had spotted a couple of boys her age lounging by a shop. They were talking in low voices, occasionally passing a look her way. One of them smiled at her, but his smile didn't seem too friendly. In fact, his appearance sort of chilled her. Nevertheless, she smiled back, and they both considered her for a moment before continuing to talk amongst themselves. Molly could tell that they were both from rather wealthy families, even in wizard's cloaks...

She shuddered slightly and turned back to her parents and the professor then followed them into a shop. Instead of seeing robes, as Pomona had said, she saw boxes upon boxes of things, layered with dust. Towards the front, near where they were all standing, were two girls, one older than the other and looking annoyed, and an old man. The younger girl was inspecting a stick with glee. Upon closer inspection, Molly saw that it was a wand.

"Thanks, Ollivander! It's beautiful," cooed the younger girl. The man nodded slightly with a smile, then he moved to organize a pile of boxes in the corner. She turned the wand in her hands once, and blue sparks flew from the end. The older girl gave a little yelp before glaring at her. 

"Mary, be careful with it! You don't want to cause an accident within the first five minutes of having your first wand," she snapped. 

The young girl, who Molly assumed was Mary, peered up at her with wide blue eyes, mock innocence on her features. "But, dearest sister, I at least didn't snap mine in two within the first thirty seconds of holding my wand for the first time," she pointed out. When her sister's face flushed with anger and humiliation, Mary grinned. "Aw, don't be such a downer, Cecilia. I might let you touch my wand if you promise to not break it," she sang. 

Mary then turned towards Molly's group, and her face brightened further. "Professor Sprout! Long time, no see!" She put her wand back into its container, pushed it into a bag, then went up to Sprout and hugged her. With a smile, Pomona hugged her back.

"Mary, dear, it's good to see you. Excited to be at Hogwarts this year?" She asked. Mary gave her answer with another brilliant grin. Upon seeing Molly, she tilted her head inquisitively towards her. Seeing Mary's motions, Sprout quickly said, "Molly Hooper, meet Mary Morstan. Her family's been a long time friend of mine. Her first year of Hogwarts is this year as well."

Molly gave a half-sincere smile. "It's nice to meet you," she murmured, holding out a hand. The other girl took it firmly and shook it. "We've come to get supplies for school. I assume you have as well?" 

"Yeah. I've only gotten my wand. What's it again, Mr. Ollivander?" Mary called.

The old man looked up, eyes going to Mary. "Mary Morstan, is it? Yes, yes...dragon heartstring, holly. Ten and a quarter inches. Very flexible," he muttered. He went back to organizing something on the counter, humming to himself.

With a shrug, Mary pulled her boxed up wand out again. "It's a great wand. Hope you get a good one, too, but I don't doubt that you will. Ollivander's the best around to help you find what you need," she said. She placed her wand back into her bag then beamed at Molly. "Let's get you a wand!" She nudged Molly's ribs lightly. It was then that Molly decided she had no choice but to be friends with Mary, and that made Molly very, very happy.

After several tries with different wands, Molly found one that responded beautifully to her. It was oak, with unicorn hair as a magical core, ten inches long and moderately flexible. It had emitted yellow sparks when she waved it, and she already loved it

By the time they had finished up in the wand shop, Mary and Molly were already joking around with each other. Her parents were making small talk with Mary's older sister, who at least seemed to tolerate them and answered their questions patiently. 

"Well, shall we continue with the shopping? We still have to get Molly fitted for robes, not to mention her cauldron, books, and owl..." Sprout's eyes flitted over the list again, lips pressed together firmly. Apparently satisfied, she rolled the parchment back up then stuffed it into a pocket in her cloak. "It's nearly noon. If you want to, Molly, you and your parents could go find something to eat while I get the rest of the supplies—"

"I'll take her," Mary interrupted. At the looks from the adults, she rolled her eyes but continued with, "It only makes sense. I don't think that Molly _really_ wants to spend all day looking at spellbooks."

"Actually, I wouldn't mind looking at them—"

"Hush, Mols. You really _really_ don't want to. By the end of the year, you'll despise them even more if you read them all now. Molly and I can get something to eat," Mary said, now addressing the adults; "maybe bring something back for all of you, except for Smelly-a...oh, come on, Cecilia, I was only _joking_ , lighten up. We can both go and get our animals, quills, parchment, ink, and a few more items that we'll need that they don't bother to list in the school supplies. I promise they'll be nothing lethal," she added quickly at the stormy looks on Mary's sister's face and Sprout's as well. 

Cecilia scowled at Mary. "Oh please, I know good and well that you'll talk Molly into getting pranks and things. Besides, mum and dad will be _furious_ to find out that if you spent as much as a single _Knut_ on those shoddy things, and they _will_ find out, I'll make sure of it."

"C'mon, Cece, just let me have a little bit of freedom! I think it'd be _good_ for Molly to get out and about and see all of the wonderful things Diagon Alley has to offer!" 

While Mary and Cecilia argued back and forth about whether Mary should be allowed out by herself with a friend safely, Molly turned to her parents then smiled tightly. "I don't have to go. I can stay with you four, if you prefer," she said softly, side-eying Sprout. The witch was trying to reason with Cecilia, who Molly assumed would be part of the group that her parents and Sprout were in, but it seemed as if she was having no luck with Mary's older sister.

"Sweetheart, you really don't have a choice." Molly's breath hitched at her father's words; she had been hoping that she would be allowed to go, but it seemed now that they had dashed away all thoughts of it...

Just as Molly was about to accept her fate, her mother threw in, "We think that it'll be good for you to explore the full extent of what being a witch is about. Go with Mary, and have fun. Sprout and Cecilia'll be sticking with us, so don't fret." She kissed Molly's forehead, and Molly grinned up at her parents before her attention was drawn to the argument between the Morstans, which didn't seem to have died out while Molly was talking with her parents.

"I'm not _three_ , Cecilia, stop treating me like I am..."

"...and you know why I'm treating you like this, don't you, Mary..."

"That was _one time_! Just let me go for once, CeCe; Mom and Dad would be okay with it!"

"Cecilia." Sprout's voice was firm. "Tell your parents that I gave Mary permission to nose about Diagon Alley. Let the girl have _some_ freedom."

"And for the record, I - ! What?" Bewildered, Cecilia turned to the professor for an explanation, perhaps hoping she had heard wrong.

Sprout smiled. "Let's go and find some food for the Hoopers, surely they're famished," she cooed, starting towards Molly's parents, arm looped around Cecilia's own. If anything, Mary's sister looked even more confused.

"You're...letting them go? But Mary—"

"It's rude to call your sister by her backside, dear. Now, come along."

Once the group was out of sight, Mary turned to Molly and grinned wolfishly. "Excited?"

Molly smiled shyly, fumbling with her wand box. "Yeah," she breathed. not really knowing what to say.

Without a word, Mary plucked the wand from Molly and tucked it away in her bag. "Good. We're stopping by the joke shop first—"

"Mary."

"—alright, _fine_ , I was joking anyways." It didn't sound like she was to Molly, but whatever goes. "We'll go get our supplies first, you'll love the pet shop, Mols, then we'll go find our group..." She trailed off, and her smile was quickly replaced with a scowl. "Urgh. Dirtbags coming up on the left, don't make eye contact, hopefully they haven't seen us yet."

Molly's eyes were instantly drawn to the two boys she had seen earlier. Both still gave her the chills. Mary made a noise of impatience in her throat as they approached. The fact that both were smirking made Molly draw slightly closer. The shorter of the two's eyes flickered to Molly's barest movements before going back to her face.

The shorter boy threw out a hand to Molly. "I saw you earlier, hanging out by the wand shop. New, are you?" He hummed. He had a lilting tone to his voice, an odd cross between soothing and off-putting. Molly only nodded, and the boy's smirk grew into a cold smile. "Wonderful. Name's Jim. That's Seb," he nodded towards the taller of the two, who nodded in greeting, though it didn't seem too genuine, then continued, "he doesn't talk much. What's your name?"

"Molly Hooper." Mary made another noise deep in her throat, closer to a growl now. What was so upsetting to her? 

"Molly." Jim rolled the syllables around in his mouth gleefully. "I think we'll get along well."

"Oh, _please_ , cut the garbage," Mary finally snapped. Surprised, Molly whipped her head to watch Mary in wonderment; it seemed like she had some more to say. "Jim, I've seen you treat _dozens_ of people like this if they're even mildly attractive to you! Besides, who'd want to date the likes of you?!"

"Mary!"

"It's true!" Mary turned to gaze at Molly with a ferocity that Molly had a feeling she was never going to get rid of. "He's going to use you, just see if I'm not right. I don't trust him as far as I can throw him," she spat angrily. 

"Mm." Jim's lip curled slightly in a sneer. "I'm surprised that you're hanging around this pile of filth, Molly. Grew up with her in the same neighborhood, unfortunately. She's a dirty little blood traitor, can't really trust her, either." As Mary spluttered with rage, he turned to Molly and offered a smooth smile. "If you'd like to hang out with us, we'd be more than happy to take you. We'll tell you all you'll need to know about wizardry and the world around us."

His tone was saccharine, but his eyes conveyed something entirely different. Molly saw a crazed look, and that's all she needed to confirm her choice. Anyways, he had insulted Mary, so his offer was even less appealing. She straightened up, staring him in the eyes, saying her reply with one tiny, two-lettered word:

"No."

"No?" Jim looked affronted for a moment before his face settled with another one of his smooth smiles, although a bit stiffer this time.

"You heard me. You can't just...just insult my friend like that and expect to get away with it! I haven't been considered a witch for very long, but even I could tell it was supposed to be offensive!" Molly stepped back, taking Mary's hand and squeezing it. 

It was then that something seemed to click in Jim's mind, and he stepped backwards in disgust, as if Molly had contracted a deadly disease. "You're a Mudblood," he whispered. Seb's eyes narrowed at the words, his suddenly deadly gaze fixated on Molly. A sick feeling began to spread in her stomach and chest.

Mary let out a snarl. "Don't you _dare_ call Molly that again, you leech, or I'll break every bone in your body! I found a pretty good spell for it, too, I should try it out..."

"Go ahead, you snivelling, blood-thirsty troll. Have a whack, I won't mind it the least," Jim threw back, hand darting to his back pocket. Seb already had his wand in hand, not pointed at anyone, but rolling in his hands threateningly. Fear was starting to catch in Molly's throat. There was barely anyone around, so if a fight broke out, that'd be the end of them.

"Come now, Jimmy boy. Let's play nice, put the wands away..." A new voice emerged, thick with a mocking tone. Whisps of a deepness punctuated the words. Molly glanced around wildly, hand tightening around Mary's painfully.

Blinking, Jim slowly lowered his wand. "Who..."

From behind them, a hand clamped down on one of Mary's and Molly's shoulders each, earning a yelp from Molly and a muted curse from Mary. The same person spoke again. "We're supposed to be shopping for school. Save the duelling for later, hm?"

"Screw off, Holmes. This is our fight, don't be saving the damsels in distress just to look good. That little blood traitor and her Mudblood friend—"

"Ah, Seb...how lovely to see you, if even that. Now, if you'd excuse me, I'd like to escort these two girls to wherever they need to be. Hope to not see you soon, you two."

And with that, Holmes steered them away from the other boys.

Once they were far enough away, Mary slapped his hand from his shoulder, scowling angrily. "I could've taken them, thanks! I have quite a few tricks up my sleeve—"

"They work with wizards and witches who perform Dark magic, you idiot, did you not see the signs?"

"Well, _excuse me_ , Mister Hot Shot! I was too busy being threatened to take notice!" Mary stamped her foot irritably. 

Holmes barked out a disbelieving laugh. "You would've been six feet under had I not intervened," he snapped, "yet you're ungrateful because you wanted to take them on yourself. Stupid, stupid."

"I'm going to rip your ears off and feed them to your mother!"

"Lord, you're quite infuriated. I should've left you to them, let you see how well you could've fended them off—"

"S'cuse me," Molly finally interrupted. She knew if she hadn't stopped them, they would've nagged at each other all day. Not a particularly good way to start an introduction. "One of the boys called me a Mudblood. What does that mean?" 

At the same time, almost comedically, Mary's and Holmes's attention whipped to her: Holmes stared at her in astonishment while Mary gaped at Molly.

Holmes's beautiful blue-green eyes were startlingly bright, now that Molly had a good look at them, though they narrowed at her in suspicion. "You've never heard Mudblood before? Never in your life?" He murmured, his breath hitching at the strange word, then he winced slightly as his eyes rapidly took her in. Molly shifted uncomfortably.

Mary huffed. "Obviously she doesn't know what it means, otherwise she wouldn't be asking—"

"Shut it, you dunce," Holmes growled from the side of his mouth, and Mary amazingly obeyed. He suddenly started circling Molly like a hawk with the poor girl trying to track him with her gaze. "Mm. It makes sense, being a Muggleborn. Barely introduced to being a witch, and you're already being insulted. Quite amusing," he hummed, smiling gravely. Mary opened her mouth, looking as if she wanted to throttle him, but Molly looked at her warningly; Mary regretfully stared at her feet. 

"I don't care about the _amusing_ factors of my life. I just want to know what the word means," she repeated with a small frown. This boy was odd, yet she couldn't help but feel a slight tug to him, like the waves of the ocean attracted to the moon...

"It's a slur. Pokes fun at your familial background, quite looked down upon in wizarding society. Only the lowest of the low, in my opinion, would use it. Those two boys back there that you wanted to brawl—" he cast a sly look over to Mary, who was actually smirking at the ground, before returning his penetrating gaze to Molly, "—were truthfully as low as one would stoop. Unfortunately for us all, they'll be attending Hogwarts this year, and chances are that one of them may end up in either of your Houses."

The sickening feeling was back in Molly, not only from now knowing what those two had said, but also the fact that they'd be at Hogwarts as well this year. She found Holmes's hand on her shoulder, and she forced her gaze up to him. He was studying her rather intently, his eyes flickering over her again in that rattling way. 

"You two need to stay out of trouble. I won't always be there to drag you from a fight," he chuckled. He held up a hand before Mary even spoke. "Teasing you. Is that teasing? Not quite sure. That was my intent, nevertheless. Anyways, go finish up your school supply list. I have a brother I need to go annoy." 

Holmes turned to leave, and he was about four steps away from them when Molly blurted out, "What's your first name? It can't be Holmes, can it?"

He stopped for a moment then replied without turning around with, "It's Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, and I'll hopefully see you both soon."

Then he was another face in the shifting crowd. He was gone in the blink of an eye. 

"Sherlock." Tentatively, she tried the new name out. It was gorgeous and mysterious, just like the boy who had just left them.

For a few moments, neither girl spoke. Mary eventually tugged on Molly's hand with a sigh. "Come on, you lovesick puppy. Let's go get you an owl."

~*~

Tight lipped, Molly waited on Platform 9 3/4 for the Hogwarts Express. She was still a little nauseated from having to run at a wall at full speed and worry about crashing into it like a car test dummy. Thank god she hadn't; she had slid through like it wasn't even there. Some more magic, she knew. There was probably never going to be a time where she wasn't fascinated by the magical capabilities of witches and wizards.

Her eyes itched a little from having cried when she had said goodbye to her parents. Sprout hadn't come with them on the trip this time, but she had sent them a very helpful letter telling them where to go and how to get there in order to make it to the scarlet engine that would be transporting the students to the school. Molly had no clue why, but when her father and mother had said that they loved her very much and hoped she would have a good school year and told her to write to them, she teared up, and she replied rather hastily before ramming herself into the vanishing wall fast as she could.

"Hey, Mols! Haven't seen you for a while!" Arms wrapped around her from behind, and Molly could tell who it was just from the voice and the strength of the hug. She grinned.

"Hey, Mary. I just saw you last week! Did you really miss me in that little of time?" She questioned. A pause then a soft confirmation made Molly giggle. "I missed you too, you trouble maker."

Mary pushed her cart full of school items up beside Molly, growling curses under her breath from the weight of it. Typical behavior. "Hey, have you seen Sherlock or those two pricks that he _rescued_ us from?"

"Still bitter about not getting to flatten their faces?"

"Hell right I am. I'm going to be bitter about it for the rest of my life."

Molly laughed. Her eyes wandered around the station. A taller girl with dark hair and ice blue eyes was waiting against the wall coolly, staring about as well. One boy with a small streak of silver in his hair was running his fingers through it nervously. Another girl, shorter this time and with curly brown hair and warm brown eyes, was standing beside the boy with the silver streak, nose stuck in a book. Then, with a slight thrill, Molly spotted Sherlock across the station, arguing with an older boy with gingerish hair. They were getting into it rather passionately, as Molly could tell by the wild hand movements and face gestures. 

Mary nudged Molly in the ribs without warning. "Oi, I spy your boyfriend. Go give him a big sloppy kiss right on the lips."

Molly glared at her, and her eyes flicked down to the ginger cat sitting in his cage, mewling pathetically. "Oh, come on, Toby. You'll be out and about soon," she sighed, but she found herself stroking his soft fur through the bars of his cage. 

"You named your cat Toby?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "What'd you name your owl?"

"I named her after my sister. Stinky." 

Biting back a laugh, Molly glanced down at the owl sitting in her cage, head drawn under her wing as she slept among the clattering and chattering. "Her name isn't Stinky. Really, what's her name?"

Mary smiled down at the animal affectionately. "Athena. Cliche, perhaps, but a beautiful name." She paused before following up her answer with a question. "How many owls will be named Athena at Hogwarts this year, do you think? Could you imagine, me calling for Athena, and like twenty or so birds just come racing to me, expecting treats and cuddles?" 

As Molly leant over her cart gasping for air through her laughter, she didn't notice Sherlock's approach until he was on her other side. Even then, it was a "hello Molly" later before she finally noticed him with a yelp.

"Sherlock! Hi! How have you been?" She rushed out nervously. Mary was shaking her head sympathetically, Molly saw out of the corner of her eye, so she stamped on Mary's foot, making her stifle a rather loud and filthy string of curses.

Sherlock's eyes shifted between the two. "I've been as well as I could ever be. Save for the fact that my brother dragged me here. He was trying to tell me to behave and be good, and I was telling him how I couldn't bear to do that when there were so many dull people to deduce." In disgust, he nodded towards the same gingerish boy Molly had seen earlier—Sherlock's brother looked nothing like him, she realized—who was approaching the boy with the silver streak. Sherlock's brother smiled at the boy then nodded towards the girl with the book, who glanced up and greeted him, then returned to her book.

"Those three are two years above us, thank god. The only thing is that they have the ability to boss us around much more than they should be allowed to do. At least," Sherlock continued over the loud rattling and cries from the train rolling into the station, "we'll have a cabin to ourselves without them."

The train was a grand sight, glinting in the autumn's bright sunlight. It gave one loud, long whistle as it settled to a stop in front of the station then fell silent, steam billowing from the top. Molly glanced down to see Toby's tail puffing up, and she rolled her eyes again. Once she was sure she had all of her things gathered, she followed Sherlock and Mary onto the train, lugging her things with her. Her things were stuffed safely into a compartment, and she finally was able to plop down onto the cushions in their space. 

Sherlock sat on the other side of the compartment, and Mary sat beside Molly. For a while, no one spoke. Molly idly looked at their surroundings and listened to the mindless chatter happening outside. It was then that she heard the voice that made her pale. She shrunk back against the seat, as if hoping to hide, while Sherlock looked at her in bewilderment. Mary cursed under her breath.

"...oh, _please_ , Seb, like I'd want to kiss up to the likes of someone like Dumbledore. He's a bumbling idiot with no sense of direction, employing whoever else is a Muggle Lover, and besides that, he runs the school with absolutely no punishments."

"I'd tread lightly around him anyways, Jim." Who Molly assumed was Seb spoke with a warning tone. "Don't want to be kicked out of Hogwarts the first week for already cursing a Muggleborn, would you? Quite embarrassing, if you ask me."

"Oh, _do_ shut it. Keep it up and I'll make sure you'll be vomiting feathers for a month..."

Molly's stomach twisted at his words. Cursing Muggleborns? Surely he wasn't talking about her? Perhaps so, she _had_ rather gotten on his bad side.

Sherlock seemed to be taking all of this in as well, for he had his hands steepled under his chin whenever Molly had glanced towards him so see his reaction. Mary was making an effort to not get up and go pummel the boys again; the blonde was shaking something awful and muttering quiet threats under her breath.

All of a sudden, the door to their compartment was ripped open, and there stood the two boys Molly had been worrying about ever since their little skirmish those days ago. Seb was scowling, but James was smiling sickeningly pleasantly at them.

"I told you they'd be here. They were listening to our entire conversation. Shouldn't have given so much away, eh?" Seb glared at the lot of them. Jim's smile only widened.

"I'm not worried. It's not like they're going to tell anyways, right, little miss Molly?" He cooed. She saw his hand drift towards his pocket, and she immediately pulled out her wand from her cloak. Jim looked surprised for a moment before chuckling. "She's becoming a tough one, isn't she?" He teased Mary and Sherlock, both of whom had leapt to their feet. Mary's fists were balled up, and Sherlock's hand was drifting to his back pocket as well.

"Leave before I make you regret it, Jim," Sherlock said evenly, eyes flickering over the boy's form. 

"I highly doubt you can do that, freak."

Sherlock's head snapped towards Seb, his eyes narrowed. "Just because your mother hates you, Seb, doesn't mean that you should go seeking revenge with Jim by harrying Muggleborns and those wizards and witches that are actually decent people. You should try it out sometime. Maybe your mother won't hate you as much, and maybe your father might actually stop sleeping around with other women because your mother is such a cow."

Seb raised his fist, undoubtedly intending to strike Sherlock on the nose, but before Jim could give him the green light, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Confusion lit up his features as a boy behind him said, "Is there a problem, guys?"

Both Jim and Seb turned to gawk at the boy standing in the corridor, carrying his things. The boy raised a brow. "Should I go get a teacher?" He questioned slowly. "Maybe a prefect could help us sort this out?"

Jim's light demeanor dropped, and he glanced over at Seb sourly, obviously upset that he hadn't gotten to see Seb ruin Sherlock. "Let's go back to the compartment, leave these three poor first years alone," he muttered, and they were both gone in the blink of an eye. Clearly they didn't want to be told on and be suspects for the rest of the year.

The boy watched them go with a slight frown, then he turned to Molly, Mary, and Sherlock with a tiny smile. "Can't stand them already. I imagine that you three can't either?" He hummed. He shifted on his feet and looked into their compartment shyly. "I couldn't find any room anywhere else. Could I perhaps crash here?" He asked sheepishly. A murmur of consent floated between the three, and the boy stored his stuff neatly away before going to sit beside Sherlock. 

He scanned the three with his warm brown eyes. "I think that introductions are in order. I'm John Watson. First year, too?" He asked with an easy smile. Smiles sure did seem to occur to him often and easily. 

Molly was the first to respond, holding out a hand for John to shake. "I'm Molly Hooper. Nice to meet you. That's Mary Morstan and Sherlock Holmes," she said, nodding to them respectively. Mary shook his hand, and Sherlock made a noncommittal hum. 

"So who were they? They were a couple of dopes, yes, but they seemed sort of...intimidating. Not in the way that you think. I wasn't really scared by their appearance, certainly not by the one who was about to punch Sherlock, but...intellectually. The other one was the one who unnerved me the most."

"They're nobodies. Wanting attention because they never get any at home, they are." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not too worried about them. They're all talk, anyways."

Molly cut in worriedly. "What about their threats to the Muggleborns?" She asked urgently.

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. "Don't be too sick over it. Highly doubt they'd pick on anyone their own size," he replied with a lazy flick of the hand. 

Something else popped into Molly's mind then. "Wait a minute. How did you know that Seb's parents were that way? He surely didn't tell you..."

"Deductive reasoning. That, and too many people wear their hearts on their sleeves. It's quite easy, I've been doing it ever since I was a tot."

Mary's eyes swept over Sherlock skeptically. "Whatever you say, buddy," she grumbled.

Sherlock sneered at her. "Really? Want me to try it on you?" He shot back. Mary shrugged in response.

"Go for it."

He smiled boyishly at her then narrowed his eyes, flickering them over her minutely. "Mum's a witch, dad's a Muggle, are they? Your sister's a seventh year at Hogwarts, your mum works at St. Mungo's, your dad's a musician. Taught you to play the piano. You desperately want to be an Auror. Your attitude towards hatefulness and your personality seems to go along well with it, honestly. Ah..." He trailed off, his mouth twisting up. "Not offended by the thought of dating anyone who catches your fancy, boys or girls."

Mary's face flushed, but her gaze never wavered. "Mum and Dad raised me with a steady head. Of course I wouldn't care," she defended. She waved his hand towards him. "Go on, genius. What's your next big party trick?"

Sherlock's eyes suddenly studied Molly. Under his intense look, she blushed hotly. "Both your parents are some form of doctors. You're quite skilled with the tinier details others would've overlooked."

"How do you know that?"

He nodded towards her unconsciously fumbling with the lining of her glove. "Your glove was sewn incorrectly. Your mum made it, so you don't want to get rid of it, but it fits your pinkie finger incorrectly. Too loose, if I'm not mistaken," he noted. She glanced down almost to check if he was right. Molly wiggled her pinkie slightly, and the top of the glove flopped about sadly. She was borderline being impressed and fearful.

Sherlock made a smug noise then turned his attention to John. The blond boy scowled and shook his head. "Listen, I know my sister is an alcoholic, but you don't have to point that out," he sighed. Molly and Mary giggled while Sherlock blinked at him owlishly.

"I wasn't going to say that. I was just going to ask if I could borrow your watch."

That made the girls snort with laughter. Sherlock and John shot them both looks of annoyance.

"But yes, I was _going_ to say that your sister's alcoholic problem was slightly troubling. Your parents should consider being therapists and not a librarian and a maths teacher."

John joined the girls with happy laughter. Sherlock managed a tiny smile, making Molly's heart melt a little.

Not that she'd ever admit to that, of course.

~*~

"Anne, Hailey!"

A trembling girl with a braid down her back walked shakily up to the stool where a battered hat sat. No sooner had it touched her head before the hat proclaimed, "Ravenclaw!"

Cheers erupted from the table to Molly's left. As Hailey sat down, she was patted on the back by her fellow Housemates.

Molly glanced behind her. Mary could be easily seen, as she was taller than any kid in line. Mary smiled at her nervously before chewing at her bottom lip, eyes focused on the stool. John was at the very back of the line, having the last name of Watson.

She turned her attention back to the front, where a taller boy with a dark complexion had just joined Slytherin. He looked relieved and happy. 

"Which House do you think you'll be in?" Sherlock turned his head back to gaze at her inquisitively. Molly shrugged.

"Heck if I know," she whispered back. "I just hope that everyone in my House'll be nice to me."

Sherlock made a _hmm_ sound, then turned back around to face the front. There weren't nearly as many first years as Mary, John, and Sherlock had made it out to be. Nonetheless, there were still fifteen or twenty kids in front of Molly waiting to be sorted into their respective Houses.

When they had unloaded from the train, they all had loaded onto boats with a great man with shaggy hair and a booming voice who had directed all of them towards the boats. He had been very kindly, if a little loud. Once or twice a great tentacle rose up out of the water as they sailed towards the castle, before settling back into the water. The splash that had accompanied the impact had soaked a lot of kids, including Mary. Molly reflected with a bitten back laugh at the memory of seeing her friend drenched and shivering on the shore, looking not unlike a very upset wet cat.

They had all filed into the Great Hall then, shuddering and huddled up against each other for warmth. The students that had been wet were dried by a tiny teacher with a squeaky voice. All the rest of the staff were already seated at the long table up front, smiling at each other and talking to other students. Molly was happy to see the familiar face of Professor Sprout at the table. Soon afterwards, they were arranged in a line in alphabetical order, and Molly had to be separated from Mary and John. She was pretty glad that she hadn't been separated from Sherlock, since familiar faces made her much, _much_ more comfortable with the whole situation, and she was _very_ glad that she hadn't been stuck alongside Seb or Jim.

She hadn't noticed that during her thoughts, the line had shortened with speed; suddenly, there was only one person left in front of Sherlock, leaving only two more people in front of her. 

"Sherlock?"

He turned around, focusing those sharp blue-green eyes on her. "Yes?"

"Are you nervous?" Molly questioned quietly. He wrinkled his nose slightly.

"Why would I be nervous?"

She bit her lip. "I dunno. Maybe because I am," she replied softly.

"Don't be. It's just a custom, and it's an important one at that."

"Oh." She hesitated, then she added, just loud enough for him to hear, "I hope you're in the same House as me."

Sherlock stared at her, his expression softening for a moment, but before he could respond, the girl ahead of him was declared a Gryffindor.

"Holmes, Sherlock!" 

He glanced back at Molly and nodded at her. Sherlock looked as if he wanted to say something, but he pressed his lips together tightly at the last moment, and he turned then marched up to the stool.

The hat was placed on his head, and it seemed it was ages compared to the rest of the first years so far until the hat finally shouted an outcome. "Slytherin!" 

Sherlock took the hat off and sat it back down on the stool as the Slytherins roared in approval. He sat down next to a girl with her hair pinned up prettily. Molly noted that they looked almost alike. She also noted that Sherlock wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead and looked rather pale.

"Hooper, Molly!"

Her breath hitched. She took one last glance to Sherlock, who gave her an encouraging smile, before making her way up timidly. Finally, she arrived at the stool, and she sat down, and the hat slid over her eyes, darkness seeping into her vision.

_Well, well,_ a voice murmured in amusement. Molly jumped, and it chuckled. _No need to be afraid, dear. i'm merely here to help you. Now...it seems as if you cherish knowledge quite a bit..._

An image of her hunched over a pile of paperwork was conjured in her mind, bearing the colors of Ravenclaw. She made a noise of disagreement. Yes, she cherished knowledge, but not by bookwork. Besides, Mary seemed as if she were extraordinarily bright compared to her.

_No? Ah. I know. You were quite brave on the train earlier. You'd make a wonderful Gryffindor._ Another image was procured in her mind, this time of her wearing red and gold and sticking up for a fallen student. No, no, John Watson had been so much braver than her. He had threatened to go and get the teachers and prefects, and he hadn't even flinched at the size of Seb.

The voice made a noise of ponderment. _You seem like a very cunning young lady. Devoted to pureness and tradition._ Now, she was cloaked in green and silver, hurrying along the hallways of the castle and glancing about, as if she were looking for something. Wasn't Slytherin about intelligence, too? Anyways, Molly despised tradition. Always did. Sherlock seemed like the perfect match for Slytherin. She was glad that he had gotten into that House.

_Tough one to please, then. At least there's only one option left. Obviously you're dedicated to friends. Loyalty is an important trait to have. Not to mention that you're quite driven and hardworking. I think we both know who's House you belong to._ The Molly in her mind was dressed in yellow and black, helping her friends and making friends left and right. 

_Have a wonderful time, Molly Hooper._

"Hufflepuff!" She heard the hat cry out, and suddenly she was flooded with light, her ears assaulted with a great racket of noise from the Hufflepuff table. Dazed, she made her way over to the table and sat next to the same girl Molly had saw at the train station standing next to the boy with the silver streak and Sherlock's brother. She slapped her on the back and grinned at Molly.

"Great job, Molly! You'll love Hufflepuff," she told Molly proudly. 

Molly nodded towards her respectfully but was suddenly drawn to the Slytherin table. Sherlock was looking at her with a slight sneer. She had the sudden urge to crawl underneath the table.

She'd only notice later that Sherlock's brother was sitting at the Gryffindor table. The boy with the silver streak was at the Ravenclaw table. Sherlock's brother was staring at Sherlock with almost a look of disgust.

Names were called and Houses were assigned to the rest of the new students. John had gotten Gryffindor and Mary went to Ravenclaw, just as Molly had predicted. A tall man had then stood up once the stool and hat had been removed. His white beard fell nearly to the bottom of his stomach.

"Welcome first years, and welcome back, familiar faces!" He glanced around the hall with a twinkle in his eye. Someone coughed, hiding it as a rather disrespectful phrase. He frowned towards a corner of the room, where, Molly saw with a soft gasp of awe, a small man floated, snickering behind his hand. "Peeves, not even two hours into the new school year, and you're throwing out obscenities like confetti," the taller man sighed. Giggles broke out around the room.

"You can tell old Dumbledore's getting to be one hundred and four," sang the ghost, who then blew a raspberry and zoomed from the room.

More giggles. Dumbledore waited until it died down before continuing. "I hope that this year is a wonderful and exciting school year! I fully expect it to be..."

As Dumbledore droned on and on about school rules, and she knew she should've been listening, but most of it was common sense, Molly's eyes wandered around the room. Sherlock was deep in conversation with the girl that looked like him. She didn't spot John and Mary among the sea of people, unfortunately, but she did see what Houses Seb and Jim had been sorted into: Seb to Ravenclaw and Jim to Gryffindor. Poor Mary and John.

"...and now, since we've gotten all of that out of the way...let's eat!"

Applause and whistles filled the room. Molly was pretty sure they were cheering for the fact that the professor was finally done speaking. However, multitudes of foods appeared in front of them, lining the tables in the Great Hall, and Molly was too hungry to even think further into the subject.

She was halfway through munching on a roll when her shin was kicked. Her yelp was stifled by the bread.

"Oi, sorry for kicking you, but who _are_ you, exactly?" A girl with sleek black hair and a dark complexion sitting across from Molly was staring straight at her. She had a lovely Irish lilt. It took her a few moments in order to realize that the girl was talking to her.

"Oh. I'm Molly. Hooper. Molly Hooper," she stammered out nervously, giving a shaky titter. The girl tilted her head.

"I'm Meena. Can I have your roll?"

She glanced down at the bread in her hand. Ever so slowly, she raised her hand then placed the roll onto Meena's plate. 

"Thanks. I know you're a keeper because you don't even know me, and you gave me your food anyways." Meena stuffed the roll into her mouth, then, voice muffled considerably by food, said, "I see you've already met Sally. Love her to bits. I think you two would get along well."

"I gave you my roll," Molly muttered with a pinched expression.

"You're _still_ on that?"

"Yes, because you're still eating it. Besides, couldn't you have just gotten another from the basket?"

Almost at Molly's words, the plates of food vanished, being replaced by a multitude of desserts. Meena smirked at her then winked. "It's my little test to see if one is worthy of my friendship," she drawled. 

"Worthy of your..." Molly made a noise between a laugh and a disbelieving choke. "You're _incredibly_ narcissistic, you know that?"

Meena merely grinned at her. "It's one of my defining qualities, and I'm proud of it," she cooed.

After dinner and a rather long conversation between Meena and Molly, introducing themselves properly and not over some bread, every student in the Great Hall was told to go to their respective dormitories. The prefects of the Houses were to lead the students. As the great crowd of people migrated through the doors, Molly finally caught up with Sherlock, separated from her House for just a moment. "Sherlock! How was dinner?"

Sherlock startled, then he scowled at her, shrugging her hand from his shoulder. "Leave me alone, Molly," he snapped. Molly withdrew, as if she had been burnt.

"I..."

"Go catch up with Hufflepuff. That's your House. You'll be lost in no time if you don't."

Molly paused for a moment, trying to find words to say. "It's too bad that we aren't in the same House," she said tentatively. Sherlock tensed up and turned away.

"Leave now. Your first year at Hogwarts will start out rough if you don't find where you're staying," he mumbled.

Sherlock then shouldered his way through the cloud of Slytherins, gone for the time being.

She swallowed the burn of tears and marched towards her own House.

Sod him. She wasn't going to get lost anyways.

~*~

Mary groaned loudly. "God, the workload is _terrible_ , Molly. I already have three essays due by Wednesday!"

A couple of people looked around and glared at them before returning to their work. Molly elbowed Mary. "Oi, shut it. Libraries are for studying, not blabbering," she chastised gently. The two looked at each other before bursting into soft fits of giggles.

Once they had settled down, Molly glanced over her work, humming quietly. "I think I'm nearly done with the Herbology homework. I can't believe that they're giving us so much homework when there's a Quidditch match tonight," she whispered. She stacked her work and placed it back into her bag then stood, tugging on Mary's sleeve. "Of course, exams are only a few weeks away. It was like this last year. C'mon. I'm going back to my commons room. I have to get ready for the match. Have you talked to Sally lately?"

Mary followed her from the library. From behind her, Molly heard her friend sigh. "Yeah. She said that since it's Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor, and John's playing, she'd be sitting with the people rooting for Gryffindor. I assume you'll be doing the same?"

Molly shrugged guiltily. "You could always come and sit with us. It's not like it's a crime."

"Remember what Seb spread around the school last year because I was rooting for Hufflepuff and not Ravenclaw during that match?"

"What, that you were dating Sally?"

"I mean, I didn't care or anything. It's true now, anyways, and it didn't damage my ego or anything. Literally _everyone_ has a crush on Sally," Mary nagged, rolling her eyes. Molly pressed her lips together to hold back a laugh. Mary gave her an affronted look. "It's true! As soon as people found out that Sally was taken, thank you very much, they actually looked disappointed. Anyways, I'll be sitting with the Ravenclaws tonight. Have to support my team eventually, even though they're about as good as trolls with literature."

"You guys aren't bothered by the age difference, though? You and Sally?"

"Two years? _Please_ ," she laughed. "My mum and dad have an age difference of ten years. I think that Sally and I are alright."

With another giggle, Molly hugged her friend goodbye for the time being and watched her saunter off towards the Ravenclaw tower. Even though it had only been a year that she'd been in Hogwarts, her second year had been a breeze: she knew where everything was and where all the classes were. She was slightly glad that she didn't have to go through flying lessons again; trying to cling to a stick high above the ground and propelling herself through the air wasn't her idea of fun. That day, Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had been together. Sherlock had gotten it on his first try. He had looked so carefree, curls fluttering in the wind and wide blue eyes bright with joy at the freedom of being on a broomstick...

Speaking of Sherlock...

"...and really, John, I don't see why you're so nervous. You know that Ravenclaw is awful at Quidditch. You're one of the best players on Gryffindor," Sherlock ranted, waving his hands about to illustrate his words. He stopped short when he saw Molly, and instantly, his face hardened. John looked between the two, slightly aghast. 

"Hello, John. Hi, Sherlock. Aren't you two supposed to be in class? I didn't think that you had break now," she said in confusion. At her words, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"It's lunch right now, Molly, you idiot. I don't eat, and John was too nervous to eat. We decided to do something somewhat useful, so we—"

"Sorry, but did you just call me an idiot?" Molly asked in irritation, a scowl crossing her features. "I'm pretty sure I'm far from an idiot, Sherlock Holmes."

Her retort seemed to take him by surprise, but Sherlock quickly recovered. "Isn't it obvious, though? Maybe if you checked the times and schedules once in awhile, Molly..."

John stomped on Sherlock's foot then. He smiled tightly at Molly as Sherlock gave a yell of pain and rage, hopping up and down on his uninjured foot. "We were just about to get to class early, weren't we, Sherlock?" He asked sweetly.Sherlock was too busy cursing to notice John's words.

"You stepped on my bloody _foot_ , John!"

"Yes. I am aware." He turned to Molly and winced sympathetically. "Sorry that he's being such a prick. It's probably better that I apologize for him. He'll turn it into something awful."

Molly nodded towards him in thanks. "I'll see you later. Good luck tonight." She hugged him briefly then glanced at Sherlock. He was studying his bag very carefully. "I hope that you aren't as sour as you always are, Sherlock," she sighed.

She continued down the hallway towards where the Hufflepuff common room was located. Just before she turned the corner, she heard John and Sherlock arguing with each other and using rather colorful phrases.

When she arrived in the cozy and earthy-smelling room, Toby immediately rubbed up against her legs, purring softly. Meena was sitting at one of the low tables, chewing on the end of a quill in concentration. Meena glanced up and grinned, waving Molly over.

"Thank god. A distraction from this hateful work," she muttered. She waved her wand, and all of her things flew into her bag neatly beside her chair. Molly sat in the chair across from her.

"So are you going to the match tonight?"

Her nose wrinkled. "I plan on it. Nearly all of the school is going. If I don't this damned paper done from Snape...he knew that everyone was going to the match tonight, but oh no, he _had_ to assign that paper!"

Molly shrugged. "I already got it done. It was pretty simple," she said tentatively. At the look on Meena's face, Molly quickly added, "But I'm not going to let you copy off of it. Snape's an idiot, but he's not so thick to notice that two papers from two different students are the exact same. Besides, have you heard what he makes students do during detention?"

"I'd risk it. They wouldn't be the exact same, I'd just change the wording slightly."

Quirking a brow, Molly shook her head, then she picked up Toby and nuzzled into his soft neck. He wriggled and meowed in protest. "Sherlock insulted me on the way here," she mentioned casually. She heard Meena give a soft noise of annoyance.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't know that it was lunch. John was with him; he temporarily impaired Sherlock's walking abilities by stomping on his foot."

"Did the prick apologize, at least?"

Molly paused, finally letting Toby jolt from her arms so he could gallop to one of the chairs and hide underneath it. "No. John kind of apologized for him," she said regretfully. 

Meena let out another noise of annoyance. "Molly, I don't know why you and your friends like him so much. He's terribly mean, even to you. You're the nicest person in our grade, probably even the entire school. You need to stick up for yourself to him and to anyone else who insults you," she mumbled. She pointed her wand at her bag and muttered, " _Accio_ Potions Essay." 

Molly let Meena's words filter through her head as she watched the girl write furiously on the parchment. Maybe she was right. Sherlock was rather cruel. But then again, he _had_ made Jim leave them alone. At this point, she wasn't even sure. She'd just...sit back and wait, then. Sherlock was a mystery that'd probably never be solved.

"Hey Molly, what's the effect of wormwood on boils?"

Molly smiled faintly. "Nice try," she sighed.

Meena groaned dramatically.

Once the time had come, Molly and Meena, along with the rest of the House, wandered out to the Quidditch pitch. Those who rooted for Gryffindor were on one side, and those who rooted for Ravenclaw were on the other. Molly waved up at Mary with a grin, who was sat with the Ravenclaws, looking moody but cheerful. Meena gave Molly a quick hug before departing for the Ravenclaw side. Biting her lip, Molly made her way up to where the Gryffindors and their fans were sitting, roaring in approval as the teams warmed up for the match. A slight thrill went through her at the sight of Sherlock sitting among the oceans of red and gold, bearing a little animated silver pin of a lion and a look of discomfort. Quickly, Molly sat beside him, not knowing where else to sit.

"Bit chilly, isn't it?" Molly finally said, rubbing her arms as her teeth chattered. In her excitement, she had forgotten a jacket and gloves. Perhaps a scarf wasn't a bad idea,, either.

"Here. I brought this. I figured someone would need it," she heard Sherlock murmur. Warmth enveloped her, not too hot but just right. She blushed when she realized it was a woolen blanket, and she blushed even harder when she saw Sherlock was sharing with her.

He must've seen her expression, because he rolled his eyes with a huff. "Please, it's not _that_ big of a deal. By the way, John's doing a rather shoddy job tonight. If he keeps this up, Ravenclaw may actually win," he drawled. 

Indeed, John looked rather nervous, much like he had in the hallway that same day. He played Chaser, and from what Molly had heard from the girls that fawned over him, he was extremely good at it. Nevertheless, fantastic or not, John was doing, in Sherlock's words, a rather shoddy job. He kept missing the goals, and once or twice, he had bumped into a couple of teammates. Molly winced in sympathy for him.

Warm-ups were quickly over with, and the game was beginning before Molly's eyes. A witch—the same witch that had taught them how to fly on broomsticks, but Molly couldn't remember her name—waited until the players were lined up on their respective sides. She traded words of encouragement and the routine let's-all-play-fairly-now phrases, then she blew her whistle, and the players kicked off the ground, soaring into the air ten, twenty, thirty feet high on their brooms. 

"Aaand here we are, folks, first Quidditch match of the season! Old lions against smart alecks...okay, okay, my bad, Professor, it's _Ravenclaw_ against _Gryffindor_. Lots of red and gold, lots of blue and bronze...but I see more red and gold. Gryffindor just scored a goal!" A magnified voice rang around the stadium. 

Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor supporters. Molly let out a whoop when she saw John pull back from the goal with a satisfied grin, an arm raised in victory. She even heard Sherlock let out a hum of approval.

Back and forth the scoring went: Ravenclaw was a formidable team against Gryffindor. Gryffindor supporters were too full of themselves to admit to it, though.

Eventually, the score was tied 120-120. Gryffindor had already used up all of their breaks, and Molly saw the captain was biting at her nails rather worriedly. 

"No doubt that Ravenclaw has some sort of award-winning move stuffed up their sleeves," Molly muttered to Sherlock. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smirk.

"Wit beyond measure, man's greatest treasure," he whispered back. "Then again, plans can't always catch the Golden Snitch. You have to be very quick and—"

"Clever, _clever_ move by Murlen Chanse! The Golden Snitch has been caught! Gryffindor wins!" The announcer cried. Howls and yells of excitement broke out through the Gryffindor supporter stand. Boos sounded from the other side of the stadium. No one seemed to care, though.

Sherlock nudged her. "Quick _and_ clever. It's not one or the other," he said with a smile. Molly bumped back against him with her shoulder.

After the match, Molly and Sherlock met back up with Mary and Sally. Sally had sat with Mary in the Ravenclaw stands; neither one was surprised that Gryffindor had won. Eventually John joined the group. He was sweaty and covered in bruises, but his smile was radiant.

"I’ll bet that I scored half of those points," he crowed, a smug look on his face. 

"To be quite honest, I'm still sort of surprised that Ravenclaw kept up so well." Mary shrugged. "No doubt that they practiced their moves for weeks on end."

"You're bagging on your own House, Mary?" Sally raised a brow at the blonde. In response, Mary grinned unabashedly.

"Is it really a surprise to anyone?"

The group headed back up to the castle, giggling and sharing their own opinions on the match "Highly entertaining, I will grudgingly admit," Sherlock sighed at one point. Meena soon caught up with the group. 

"I can't _wait_ to see Molly kick some arse out on the pitch for Hufflepuff. Mild-mannered Molly, batting a Bludger right into someone's nose..." She smirked, and Molly elbowed Meena in the side as the girl laughed.

Mary and Sally were walking alongside each other, talking to each other in low voices and smiling at each other. John and Sherlock were arguing with each other about proper Quidditch techniques: which were the most important, speed, accuracy, or plans of attack? Sherlock ranted that if all three were incorporated correctly, then a team would be practically undefeated. John retorted that Sherlock didn't even play.

Meena took Molly's hand and squeezed it. "This is the life, huh, Mols?" She hummed.

A shy smile spread on her face as she glanced around the grounds of the school. The leaves were turning colors beside the lake. The giant squid was splashing about in the water, perhaps trying to warm up. Autumn's sunlight gave the barest hint of warmth. Murmurs of voices created a comforting background. She hoped that they would be serving hot chocolate and pumpkin juice at dinner that night. Molly was content.

"Yeah. It's pretty neat," she finally replied, offering a tiny smile to her friend. Hand in hand, they walked back up to the castle. Near the entrance, Molly spotted the black haired girl that resembled Sherlock. She seemed to be waiting for someone. She was rather pretty, Molly noticed idly. They made eye contact briefly. The girl smiled, winked, and sauntered back into the castle. 

No one else seemed to have noticed the girl. Meena didn't even see her, because she was too busy trying to get Molly to notice that the giant squid was making a rather big show of playing with its food, much to many students' and even staff members' delight.

~*~

Sherlock plopped his stuff next to Molly's with a short huff, a frown on his features. "Don't ask why. You're the only person I can stand to be next to without wanting to commit homicide," he grumbled. 

It was double Herbology with Slytherin that day. Molly didn't care all too much for Herbology, but she got good grades for it, so she didn't mind it too much. She merely moved her own stuff over slightly so Sherlock could sit down. She didn't really want to be paired up with anyone else, either. Besides, Sherlock was brilliant, as people were figuring out quickly enough. If she had trouble with something, no doubt he'd be able to help somewhat.

"Do you have double Potions with Slytherin tomorrow?" Sherlock murmured to her.

"Yeah. Today it's with Ravenclaw, so I'll be able to be with Mary," she muttered. Thank god. She didn't care much for being paired with someone she didn't know.

Professor Sprout clapped her hands together at the front of the greenhouse, looking cheerful as usual. "Alright, class, I'm sure you all are very familiar with Mandrakes by now and their effect on humans." When groans filled the room, Professor Sprout laughed. "We're done with Mandrakes now. However, if you want to pass this particular section and move on, then you must write me a half-foot long segment of parchment paper on what you learned about Mandrakes. Simple. You can get started right now, if you wish," she announced. Shuffles filled the room as the students removed their parchment and quills.

Molly scribbled at her paper furiously, trying to pull up facts and sentences while her hand skated across the page. If there was one thing she disliked about Professor Sprout, it was that she gave assignments out like confetti. 

"The Mandrake's cry is fatal only when they're young, Molly, not all of the time," she heard Sherlock sigh beside her. She quickly crossed out her mistake and added in another phrase to make up for it.

"Thanks."

That seemed to have taken Sherlock by surprise. He made a noise of acknowledgement then returned to his own report. A touch of pink covered Sherlock's cheeks.

All too soon, the class was dismissed, and the students trudged back up to the castle, chilly spring air filling their lungs. Sherlock and Molly walked beside each other in thoughtful silence.

"My mum says I should be an Auror when I grow up," Sherlock said. They both tramped up the wide stone steps to the castle's great oak doors, quickly sidestepping Filch and his wretched cat. Molly had heard stories all last year and her first year at Hogwarts about Filch and Mrs. Norris. She'd rather not get on their bad side.

"It's a dangerous job, you know." Molly shifted her book bag to her other side. It seemed to be filled to the brim with books and useless things. "Aurors chase down Dark Wizards and eradicate deadly threats to the world. Well, whatever's related to dark Magic, that is."

Sherlock replied with an even, "I know, Molly." He paused before continuing steadily. "They're very picky about the qualifications of Aurors, though. Only the best of the best. I'd quite like to be one, myself."

"But it's _hazardous_ , Sherlock. You could be tortured and killed and no one would know where you'd gone off to," she protested.

He suddenly stopped and glared down at her. "You think that I don't know that, Molly?" He spat out. "I know I'm good enough to be one. I want to be one. Not necessarily because I want to protect, but it's because that I'm one of the idiots that live in this _fetching_ world, and I'd rather like to keep some semblance of balance."

Molly bit her tongue hard. God, he was a moron sometimes. Why was she even worried about him in the first place? It's not like it's _her_ choice to say what Sherlock can or can't do. Besides, there were still a few years between now and then for him to change his mind. Of course, Sherlock hardly ever changed his mind. 

Apparently, they both decided silently that it was best to just leave the subject alone and stop talking for a while to let their tempers lower. Just as they were walking down the halls to their respective Houses to get their supplies for the next class, a gleeful voice rang down the hall, and it filled Molly's blood with ice.

"Well, if it isn't the Muggle-loving Sherlock Holmes and his girlfriend!" Jim crowed. Sherlock made a low growling noise of frustration beside Molly. Instinctively, Molly muttered that they weren't in a relationship.

"Oh, this is rich. Sherlock, I thought you said that you couldn't stand Muggles?" Jim had a self-satisfied look on his face. Molly saw Sherlock freeze up out of the corner of her eye. "Someone told me _all_ about it. You were talking to your little friend about how stupid you thought Muggles were."

Molly gazed over at Sherlock, flabbergasted. Surely he wouldn't...

"I never said anything like that," he answered back, a scowl on his features. But his eyes were flickering around the corridor, trying to look at anything but Jim and Molly.

He was lying. He had said every word of what Jim had claimed he had said.

Jim must've seen the look on her face, because he quickly added in, "You thought all along that he was a Muggle-lover, didn't you? Thought that he wasn't just friends with you and Mary and John because he felt bad for you?"

"Leave Molly out of this," Sherlock snapped. 

Molly glared at him. "No. It's just as much my problem as it is yours. I can't _believe_ you, Sherlock! Tell me, then, if you're so upset about getting called out on it. Did you say it or not?" She demanded. Anger was boiling in her very being. How dare he have the gall to even say such things! Had he really said it, though? God, she hoped he hadn't, maybe she could keep denying it and it'd turn out to be true...

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth before turning away from Molly, his shoulders slumped. "I did. I said those things," he said shortly, tone thick with ice.

As Jim laughed at the end of the corridor, Molly took a couple of steps back, disgusted with Sherlock. He had been so nice to her and John and Mary. _He really hadn't though, remember?_ nagged a voice in the back of Molly's skull; she brushed it away fast as she could. Now she saw why he wasn't popular with many.

"Why'd you say it?" She managed to work out. Molly dug her nails into the palms of her hands to keep tears away. "Why'd you say it if you're friends with me and Mary and John?" 

"You wouldn't understand." His response was so quiet that Molly barely heard him. Even Jim managed to stop laughing in order to hear what Sherlock had to say.

"What would I not understand, Sherlock? That you're extremely prejudiced against those supposedly beneath you?" She snarled.

That made Sherlock whip around to face her once more, barely leashed fury insinuated on his features. "Stop reading into this more than you should, Molly," he said quietly.

"I'm going to read into it as much as I want to!"

"What the hell is going to make you shut up?!"

" _Tell me why you said it_!"

" _I said that you wouldn't understand_!" Sherlock bellowed. His words echoed around the hall before dying away swiftly. Molly flinched slightly but kept her gaze on him. He was breathing heavily.

"Is it because I'm part-Muggle?"

Sherlock pressed his lips tightly together. Molly prepared herself for the oncoming slaughter. It never came, so she pressed on. "Do you think that I cannot grasp such a subject as disgusting as prejudice against those who don't deserve it? Just because of the way they are?"

"Molly..."

"You're _despicable_." Molly threw the words out, and they landed heartwrenchingly at Sherlock's feet. She could see the insult form before he even spoke.

"You want to know why I think you won't understand?" He started, dangerously soft. His eyes gleamed with something akin to malice. "Because you were born and raised by Muggles. You haven't an _inkling_ of what the Wizarding world has gone through because of the Muggles. You'd try to deny as much as you possibly could, wouldn't you? I know how it'd turn out. Because..." His voice had risen to a crescendo, and then dropped down to a harsh whisper. He smiled with unkind lips and cruel teeth. "...you're _nothing_ but a Muggle-lover and a Mudblood."

Suddenly, her heart was shattering into millions and millions of pieces, the shards blown away into dust. She was expecting to be called stupid or dumb. It would've hurt much, _much_ less than what had came out of Sherlock's mouth just then. 

_Mudblood_. That filthy term created by heartless wizards for heartless wizards to use. If Jim or Seb had called her that again, she wouldn't have minded as much. Sherlock was a friend, though; he was supposed to be there for her, not use such a dirty word as that to insult her. Tears threatened her eyes. Her throat closed up for a moment, and she couldn't breathe. And just like that, the sorrow was gone, replaced by inconceivable outrage. How could he say such a thing, especially to someone like her? She, who had comforted him best as she could when he had failed a Potions exam? She, who had gotten angry at Meena and stood up for him when he had been called a freak?

"You know what, Sherlock?" She said sweetly, the smallest smile on her face. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Sherlock seemed to have realized how much he had screwed up, because he paled and stammered for a moment. "F-for what? What, exactly?" He gulped and glanced around, hoping desperately that someone might come and save him. Jim had long since left.

She beamed up at him. "Why, for finally making me come to the conclusion that you, dear sir, are an asshole of the worst possible kind!"

Her fist flew upwards and connected with Sherlock's nose with a sickening _crack_. Blood and tears streamed down his cheeks. He howled and dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Next thing she knew, there were teachers and students flooding the halls, and she was being dragged off of Sherlock by Mary and Meena. Apparently she had still been whaling away at him, screaming things at him that would've made her mother blush and father faint. The students were cheering on the fight as the teachers shouted for order, and Filch was screeching about his beautiful floors being ruined when the clamor died off as suddenly as it had started. Molly stopped struggling against her friends for a moment to see why everyone had gone quiet. 

It was Dumbledore. He watched as John helped Sherlock to his feet, not even caring about the blood that dripped onto his robes while he murmured comforting things to Sherlock. Dumbledore's eyes turned to Molly, and she was suddenly aware of hundreds of other eyes on her as well. 

Including, Molly noted, Professor Sprout's. _She's disappointed_ , cackled the voice in Molly's head again. The professor should be. Hell, _Molly_ should've been, but she felt an odd sort of pride about sticking up for herself against Sherlock. 

"Professor Sprout, Professor Snape, bring them to my office. We'll talk about just punishments there." Dumbledore nodded to the teachers before sweeping away, his cloaks making barely a whisper on the old floors. Molly felt a firm hand on her shoulder, and she looked up to see Professor Sprout staring down at her gravely. 

Molly waited for her to say something, but the professor didn't say anything. Instead, she pushed Molly forwards slightly. The crowd of students parted like the Red Sea before them.

What was there to say, though? Everything had been conveyed through Sprout's expression, anyways. Idly, Molly realized that she had been terribly late to class.

Blurs of faces and murmurs throughout the school oozed into Molly's mind. Even the paintings were gossiping about the fight. Fitting.

Molly was the first to get to Dumbledore's office, and Sherlock followed right behind her. She plopped into one of the chairs in front of the desk per the professor's demand and glanced around. There were portraits of former headmasters around the room. Strange metallic objects sat on a table nearby, whirring quietly. In the corner sat an empty cage.

"I'm quite disappointed in the two of you." Dumbledore's voice entered the room before his body did. He sat behind his desk and peered at the two of them with equal disapproval. "Highest in your classes, yet you can't prevent a simple fistfight with civil words," he sighed.

"Professor, if I may—"

"I'd shut it if I were you, Hooper," sneered Snape, eyeing her with contempt. "You're in enough trouble as it is."

Molly scowled and sank lower into her seat. 

"She threw th' firs' punch, Profess'r," Sherlock muttered beside her. Molly felt pride flame in her again at the sound of Sherlock's voice, clouded and thick with blood. "I di'nt even do anything wrong."

"Liar," Molly sang. She didn't collapse under the weight of the teachers' gazes on her.

"Well, if you're so convinced that you weren't in the wrong for doing what you did, please explain," Dumbledore said, not unkindly.

"He called me a Mudblood."

Searing silence filled the room. She beamed at the three of them when Sherlock didn't try to defend himself. 

"Is it true, Sherlock?" Professor Sprout asked sharply. 

He mumbled something sheepishly. It was incomprehensible because of the blood clogging his voice. Dumbledore flicked his wand almost lazily, and the bleeding stopped. Sherlock tentatively touched the bridge of his nose—the bone now healed, it seemed—and, once satisfied, tried again.

"I did. I called her a Mudblood."

"Why?" Dumbledore and Sprout asked at nearly the same time. Snape was gazing at him with narrowed eyes.

"I...don't know. It was a stupid reason. Won't happen again," he promised. He paused to look down at his hands, covered in blood, and winced slightly. "Swear it on my head. I'm sure Molly will execute me next time I do. Well, if I do. Don't count on it, though."

Molly hid her snort behind a cough. 

This time, Sprout raised her wand, and all of the rest of the remains from the flight disappeared from Sherlock's robes, face, and hands. "Neither of you will get away from this scot-free. Detention with me, tonight—"

"No, Pomona, I shall take them," Snape drawled. Sprout pressed her lips together tightly but nodded. Snape turned to them, expression cold. "Dungeons, my office. Eight o'clock sharp. Delay it, and your punishments increase by time and severity."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, Professor."

"Good." Snape passed one last look to Molly then swept from the room. Whatever that had meant. She didn't care if she made him mad by punching one of his prized students in the face; she loathed him, anyways.

"Your parents will be notified of this event. You're dismissed," Dumbledore said. Molly smiled tightly at him and fled from the room. Barely, she could make out Dumbledore telling Sherlock to report to the medical wing to see if the bone had healed right and to receive further medical attention if needed.

God, her hand hurt. She glanced down to gaze at it. Her knuckles were bruised slightly, reddish-brown covered the skin. Stifling a sigh, she began to nurse at it slightly by rubbing the knuckles.

She didn't care that Sherlock was walking a little ways away from her. Clearly he thought she was going to lay him out again. A smirk lit her features at the thought. 

Maybe he'd treat her a little nicer.

At eight that night, after dinner, Molly made her way down the winding steps to Snape's office. Since the dungeons were old, smelly, and moldy, she thought that the dungeons were a _wonderful_ place for Snape to set up his office. That cheered her up a little.

Sherlock was already down there. A single table was set up, with two chairs at it. He sat in one of them. Apparently, the other one was for her.

The two of them had to work side-by-side. _Wonderful_.

She sat down beside him without a word. Snape was already standing at the front of the room. Carelessly, he waved his wand, and a barrel shot over to them. Molly saw that it was chock-full of slimy little creatures. She twisted her mouth in disgust.

"You two are to sort salamanders from newts. I want newt eyes in one pile, salamander tails in the other. You work until the barrel is empty, understood?" At their grumbled words of assent, Snape gave them a chilly smile. "Oh, and no wands are allowed. You have two hands each. Use them."

Silently, they seemed to have agreed to have one take the salamanders and the other take the newts. On one hand, it wasn't very fun to pop the eyes out of newts, because even though they were dead, Molly still felt a little bad; but on the other hand, it was fascinating to finally learn the difference between the two. Sherlock had explained under his breath to her that newts had drier skin than salamanders. Snape seemed slightly disappointed that the two were working so well together. When they were about halfway though the barrel, the professor had left his desk to go elsewhere, warning them that if they did something even slightly out of order, he'd know. What was there to do down in the dungeons, anyways? Besides, nearly the entire school knew that the two of them had detention with Snape. As Molly had heard time and again, and which she now believed, Snape's detentions were legendary.

Molly shifted her eyes around the room warily before leaning towards Sherlock. "His taste in decor is atrocious," she whispered. 

The tiniest smile graced Sherlock’s face, then it disappeared. "Work, Molly. We'll never get out of here if we don't finish," he said gently. They continued to work in silence for a bit longer.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. For...for insulting you. It was thoughtless and cruel. I promise it will never happen again. And if it does, you have my permission to beat me to a pulp," he murmured. She stole a look over to him to see his face filled with sincerity. Was there a touch of uncertainty on his face, too? Perhaps not; maybe it was a trick of the lights.

Molly nodded stiffly. "I accept your apology." She paused before tentatively adding on, "I'm sorry that I broke your nose and beat you up."

Sherlock chuckled softly. "It was for a good cause." After Molly had stopped laughing, he continued on. "No, really. I accept your apology as well. Hope we got all of that out of our systems today."

Both were in a slightly better mood. They worked on and on, chatting about this and that, and they were finally done. Snape eventually dismissed them back to their respective areas for their Houses—somewhat disgusted, Molly noticed—and the two still talked until they parted for the night.

The next morning started off fairly well. Molly had Meena catch her up on all of what she missed in and out of the classroom, and the pair started off to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Oddly enough, when the owls arrived for their daily delivery, Molly was dropped a letter. With a chill, she saw that it was the address for her house. It was probably a few choice words from her parents put in ink onto paper.

"Looks like old Sherly got some mail, too. It's a Howler," Meena giggled quietly to Molly. At the Slytherin table, Sherlock was gingerly holding a smoking red envelope, a look of trepidation on his face. Already people were laughing, others were stock-still, preparing themselves for the outburst from the envelope. 

"Ah." She paused then smirked. "Glad my parents don't know about those. They'd be cussing nonstop throughout it." Well, probably not, but it had a good effect on Meena, as she only started to laugh harder. "Sherlock'd better open it before it—"

It seemed Sherlock finally had worked up the courage to open the letter, because then a great, haughty voice of a woman burst from the red rectangle, filling the sudden hush in the Hall.

" _Sherlock Holmes! Where am I to start with you?! How dare you think it's alright to call a young lady such a word like that! How dare you think that you're above her! Did we not raise you to be polite? We are terribly disgusted with your behavior. Why, we ought to pull you from Hogwarts this instant and send you to a Muggle school! Nothing wrong with those Muggles, of course, but you'd miss all of the excitement. You should be ashamed of yourself. Expect punishment when you come home this summer. And if the poor girl who was called...you know, by my son...is listening..._ " The voice grew softer, almost tender. " _Thank you for showing him a thing or two. I don't blame you for beating the wits out of him. Deserved it, he did. Do take care. And as for you, Sherlock..._ " It hardened again. " _Stay out of trouble. We'll find out if you don't. Loves and hugs, Mummy and Daddy._ "

Half of the Hall's attention was directed at Molly, and the other half was directed at Sherlock. Molly saw that Sherlock, mortified, had sank into his seat, face bright red. Molly herself was blushing as well.

Then, like a string being pulled, laughter rang around the Hall. Sherlock rested his head against the table, hiding his face from view. Mycroft was sneering at his little brother derisively while his friends laughed.

Molly felt a little bad for Sherlock.

~*~

"Irene...we can't, not out here in broad daylight—"

"Hush." The girl smiled and brushed a strand of hair from Molly's forehead. "The teachers don't give a damn anymore. If anything, they at least advert their eyes and pretend like it never happened."

Molly giggled softly, placing her hand over Irene's own. "You're a riot, Irene," she cooed, eyes tracing down Irene slowly. "Still...wouldn't it be a little more fitting if we kissed out by the garden, not in the middle of the hallway?"

"Too cliche."

"You sound like Sherlock."

"Oh?" She moved closer, lips barely brushing Molly's. "Have you ever kissed Sherlock, though?"

"No."

She barely pressed a kiss to the corner of Molly's lips. Infuriating, she is. "Have you thought about it?" She breathed.

Molly smacked her shoulder lightly, rolling her eyes. "Listen, you arse, are you going to kiss me, or can I go spend my break somewhere useful?"

Irene backed her up against the cold wall. Molly didn't care that it was cold. "Mm. I'd rather you stay with me," she whispered. Oh, there were her lips, so soft and warm against her own. Molly kissed Irene back enthusiastically. 

God, she was breathtaking.

Her eyes were a little wild when Irene pulled away to gaze at Molly with ice blue eyes. Strands of black hair covered a bit of her face. The scene made Molly's breath hitch. 

"You probably want to get back to studying, don't you?"

Molly bit her lip. She needed to study, but with Irene being in her fifth year and Molly in her fourth, they barely got to see each other as it was. Irene's kiss on her nose brought Molly back to herself from her thoughts.

"I see. it's alright. Studying and schooling is important. I'll see you later, nerd." With that, Irene began to walk away. Molly couldn't stop herself from blurting out.

"We could study together, you and me. I-I mean...if you're okay with it, of course." Molly held her breath hopefully.

Irene stopped for a moment. She turned her head barely, just so Molly could catch the beginnings of a smile. "Perhaps another day." Molly deflated the slightest until Irene added on, "'Course, you could always come with me to Hogsmeade today, put off your studying for a while," she mused. She winked at Molly teasingly. "I'll see if you've made your mind up if I see you in the queue to leave."

With that, she turned the corner and disappeared. What a girl Irene was. 

Excitedly, Molly made her way back to the basement where the Hufflepuff residence was. She tapped her wand on the barrels, hummed a jaunty tune underneath her breath, and ducked into the warm rooms beyond.

As usual, there were students scattered about, their study materials in their laps or on the low tables. She nodded to a few of them then hurriedly went to where her own belongings were stored. She had a couple of Galleons she had gotten for her birthday still stuffed in her sock. She took those, and, at the last moment, stuffed her family tree drawn out on parchment into her bag. Buried down in her suitcase, she had nearly forgotten all about. Why she had wanted to take it,, Molly hadn't the slightest clue, but it made her feel slightly safer for whatever reason.

Molly puttered about a little longer reading up on certain subjects and practicing spells before eventually heading back upstairs. Masses of students were already flooding the corridors, and lively chatter filled the halls. Many of them were excited to be able to have a bit of roaming freedom. Molly first spotted Mary, John, and Sherlock together, then Meena and Sally, and finally Irene. She beamed at the older girl and wasted no time in getting to her.

"Planning on studying in Honeyduke's?" Irene quipped, her eyes flickering to Molly's bookbag.

"Maybe. Why do you care?"

They shared a laugh as they advanced through the great doors and out to the world beyond. Both girls chattered all the way to Hogsmeade. Molly learned that Irene's mother was pregnant with a second child, presumably a boy. Irene seemed happy about the prospect of having a baby brother. Molly told Irene about how she wound up learning she was a witch.

"Oh, wow. You're Muggleborn? How'd you manage to get along without magic for all of those years?" Irene asked, awestruck. Molly smirked.

"Muggles have invented some pretty useful things. You'd be surprised." Molly made a noise in the back of her throat then, wrinkling her nose. "Though magic certainly does make doing laundry a whole deal faster."

Irene giggled. It was a wonderful noise; Molly wished that she could listen to it all day. "You really _are_ a nerd. C'mon, let's go get a butterbeer before we do anything else."

Half of the time spent at Hogsmeade was with Irene. They bantered playfully over a lot of things. Molly bought Irene a few chocolates from Honeyduke's, and Irene gave Molly a little teddy bear that smiled and waved. After a while, she spotted Mary, John, and Sherlock sitting outside of the ice cream shop, talking over sundaes.

"Hey, Irene, can I go catch up with my friends? You don't mind, do you?" Molly asked tentatively. She saw that Irene shook her head with a smile, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Yeah, of course. Have fun."

Molly was about to walk away when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She was spun around to face Irene. Before she had a chance to ask questions, Irene pressed her lips against Molly's tenderly. Her cheeks blazed.

Irene winked at Molly when they parted. "See you later, sweetheart," she purred. Just like that, she was blending into the crowd, and Molly was left alone, standing with a rather goofy smile on her face.

Slowly, she made her way over to her friends' table. They greeted her gladly—John and Mary did, anyways; Sherlock was peering at her suspiciously—and Molly sat next to Mary.

"Anything new going on?" Molly questioned, leaning over to take Mary's maraschino cherry. Mary scowled at her but let her do so all the same.

"Nah, not really. Well, Mary's single now. Sally's dating Meena now. Good for Sally, since Mary's a real arse, anyways," John noted.

Mary punched his arm. "Oi, watch it, Johnny Boy," she warned. She turned to Molly and shrugged. "True, though."

Molly giggled. "Yeah, heard about that from Meena. Sorry, Mary. Meena says that she and Sally are getting along wonderfully," she cooed.

Mary licked a bit of whipped cream from her spoon. "That's good. Sally certainly deserves better than me."

"Hey, I'm sure you were wonderful to Sally. Don't be like that." Molly glanced around the shop for a few moments. "Irene and I are dating," she mentioned casually.

The reactions were beautiful. John nearly choked on his spoon, Mary gazed at her with a dumbstruck expression, and Sherlock rolled his eyes, poking at his ice cream stubbornly.

"Irene _Adler_?!"

"You're joking."

"Heard about it."

Molly looked at Sherlock in surprised. He sighed impatiently. "When you're in the same House as her, you tend to hear quite a bit of gossip," he snarked.

She pursed her lips then turned back to John and Mary. "Yes, John, Irene Adler, and no, Mary, I'm not." 

"Holy shit. And you didn't tell me about this before?!" Mary leant forward suddenly with a slightly malevolent grin on her face. "Is she a good kisser?"

She got a smack on the shoulder for that one.

"I say she is, and I've never kissed her. Molly and Irene have been seen trying to out snog each other in the hallways," Sherlock sneered. 

"Hey, at least I don't feed my ego off of the pain and humiliation of others," Molly shot back. John snorted while Mary whooped.

Sherlock gave her a scowl then sunk into his chair. "My apologies," he managed to choke out.

Inflated ego or not, at least he apologized. Molly beamed at him and received a sheepish grin in return. 

For the rest of the afternoon at Hogsmeade, the group talked and joked around with each other, Sherlock included, oddly enough. She had never really taken him for a joker.

When they were all walking back up to the castle, Molly felt a niggling in the back of her mind. Something was wrong. She just couldn't put a finger on it. She brushed it off, and after all of the students had quieted to resolve to their own separate thoughts, Molly pulled out the family tree uneasily. She unrolled it and stared down at it. For a moment, nothing seemed the matter, then Molly's breath sputtered out of her.

Under her mother's name was that day's date in the Death Date. Frantically, Molly searched around the family tree, shook it, tapped her wand with it, which only turned the ink rainbow colored then back to black, and even cursed at it, but the date didn't change on the parchment.

She was sickened. It was a sick joke, it had to be. Molly was going to have a few strong words with Professor Sprout, reputation be damned.

"Molly." Irene's voice caressed Molly's ear like silk. She turned and gazed up at Irene with a pinched expression. Irene, in turn, furrowed her brows. She stopped and cupped Molly's cheek soothingly, and Molly leant into her touch automatically. "You look like you've seen a ghost, love. What's the matter?" She questioned, tenderly rubbing Molly's cheek with her thumb.

Molly quickly shoved the family tree into her bag. Briefly, Irene's eyes flickered to Molly's sudden movements, but she didn't question it. 

"I'm...I'm okay, just got a bit spooked. Thought something was following me," she lied. Irene narrowed her eyes a bit, yet she still said nothing to Molly about the matter. Gently, Molly tugged on her hand to get her moving. The rest of the student body was nearly up at the castle; the two of them were halfway there still, a few stragglers falling behind with them. "C'mon, let's get going."

Silently, they made their smooth way into the castle, where Filch was side-eyeing the students suspiciously as his cat wound around his legs. They were in time for dinner, and Molly was shuffling among the Hufflepuffs to the dorms, yawning and rubbing her eyes, when a tentative touch on her shoulder made her turn around. 

It was Professor Sprout. Her eyes were teary, and she wore trepidation on her features. "Molly...I'm sorry," she started out softly, rubbing Molly's upper arms comfortingly.

Oh, no. Not now. It couldn't be now, everything had been so very bright for her. Her mother...no, no, no.

She didn't realize that she had uttered these words aloud, and now tears were indeed trickling down the professor's face. 

"Your mother...she was found dead this afternoon. Your father had went to town to get some staples, and she had wanted to stay home to finish up a report. She had a heart attack. I'm so, so sorry, darling."

Molly wrenched herself away, her body shaking. Now there was a group of students in the hallways, perhaps hoping for another fight from Molly. Against Sprout? That would be interesting to see. She laughed maniacally at the thought.

Sprout winced and reached for Molly again. "Please, dear, your father is expecting you back home. Let's get you packed up, then we can get you back—"

"She's not dead. That's a goddamn sick joke to play on one of your students," Molly spat. But there was something deep down inside of her that had gone numb, had completely stopped functioning. Was that what dying felt like?

"Molly, please, you're just in shock, you need to calm—"

And suddenly, the gravity of the situation hit her head-on. She swayed, immensely dizzy, and then she was vomiting into a can, unable to hold anything down. Her mother was gone, her mother was gone, her mother was _gone_.

Gone forever. She was never going to see her mum again. It was outlandish; it was preposterous. Yet there Molly was, throwing up all because she couldn't stand the idea of her mother being dead.

No one really blamed her, either.

It then occurred to her that it didn't really make sense that her mother had had a heart attack. She had been as healthy as could be. 

"Who investigated the death?" Molly managed to ask weakly. Sprout swallowed hard.

"Muggle police and medical staff. We then had Wizarding inspectors come in and inspect her then her surroundings at the time of death. Just in case. They couldn't find anything."

Molly was standing again at that point, leaning heavily against another student. Maybe they were Hufflepuff. She didn't know or care at that point. "I want to go home."

"Of course, dear."

She was out of Hogwarts within the hour. By then, the news of her mother had been spread all around the school. Before Molly left, she had seen Sherlock's, Mary's, John's, Meena's, and Irene's looks of horror and pity upon their faces.

Why did her mother have to leave her like this? Broken and confused and...and _angry_. Why was she angry? Of course she was; she was left between a rock and a hard place. Was it really her late mother's fault, though? Molly wished it was. She wished she could put the blame upon something or somebody other than nature's doing.

Home was empty. Her father was empty. He was a shell of his former self. He barely acknowledged Molly's existence when she had went to him and curled up in his lap where he had been sitting in the living room,gazing at where her mother had died.

After that, he never returned to the living room. He never even looked at it unless he had to. He made sure that he didn't have to.

Trying to get him to function normally was very difficult for Molly. She had to cook meals and clean the house. She had to make sure that they both ate at least a little bit, even though he would then go to the bathroom afterwards and throw it back up; it was a vicious cycle, and it broke Molly's heart. Food wasn't in the least little bit interesting to her; nevertheless, she persisted in trying to eat. Toby, at that point, had become her one bit of sanity to cling to. She'd talk, and he'd semi-listen. He could tell when she was thinking dark thoughts, and he would immediately rub against her legs and purr loudly. That made Molly feel quite a bit better.

The worst part was burying her mother. For months and months afterwards, she had nightmares of her mother's pale dead face, grotesquely arranged in a semblance of peace. Watching the procession was hard. Hearing her father's quiet sobs beside her was hard. Seeing the casket lowered into the ground was hard. Throwing a handful of dirt onto the grave was hard. 

Nothing was as hard as facing the gravestone bearing her mother's name.

She was supposed to say something. She had a lot of somethings to say, and at the last minute, it was all cluttered in her throat, and she was unable to speak. Tears blurred her vision, and they torturously fell down her face, dripping from her nose and staining her cheeks. Molly knelt and placed a beautifully purple violet in front of the stone— it was her mother's favorite flower, and she had charmed it to stay fresh forever. 

Tenderly, Molly touched the headstone. "I love you. I'll miss you loads," was all Molly could say before her lungs constricted with a sob. She stood abruptly and marched away from the grave, not turning back once.

Many words were left unsaid. Molly thought it was better that way.

~*~

"Aw, _Molly_. I'm really sorry that Irene transferred schools."

Molly shrugged her shoulders lightly, unable to stop the frown that formed on her face. "Meena, don't apologize. It's not your fault," she said sternly. She followed up with a quieter, "It's better for Irene to follow her own path instead of sticking with me. I'm glad that she did. I'm glad that she decided it would be best to cut ties with me instead of going through the difficulty of a long distance relationship." Molly then beamed. "I've heard that the French girls are pretty cute. Maybe Irene will finally get someone her own age, not a fifth year like me. That must've been hard for her, dating someone younger than her."

Meena nudged her hard. "Oi. I think you're cuter than any French girl in the world," she purred. Molly giggled and smacked her arm lightly.

"I dunno. I kind of miss Irene. She was really supportive when my mother died. Not that you guys weren't supportive," she added quickly as Meena opened her mouth with a slightly stormy expression, "it's just...I don't know. She was lovely."

"You've got that look on your face, Mols."

"Which one?" She murmured, picking up Toby and stroking his head absentmindedly.

"That one where you look super desperate for someone to, like, kiss you or something. Fantasizing about Irene or Sherlock?" Meena grinned.

Molly scowled. "Sherlock isn't interested in dating, and to be quite honest, he's sort of an arsehole. He was awful to me for a while there. Then I beat the crap out of him, and he shaped up. _Slightly_."

Meena sighed and patted her friend's arm condescendingly. "Oh, dearie. You poor thing," she cooed. "If you only knew what Sally and I get up to, you'd be ruined for dating for life."

"Er...Sherlock's already shared with me—in _detail_ , by the way—about what his brother and Greg Lestrade get up to." Molly faked a shiver, and Meena giggled.

"At least they're happy," Meena pointed out, and Molly nodded seriously.

They sat in silence for a while, and a moment later, they were digging out notes from Potions and comparing them. Even though they weren't in the same age group, Meena needed some reviewing, and Molly was desperate to learn something new, since they had been stuck on poisons for a while now. Snape hated having his classes stuck behind, but he was insistent that everyone in his class knew the difference between Belladonna and blueberries. 

Her eyes shifted towards the entrance of the Hufflepuff housing, where people were beginning to file out for dinner. "Hey, Meena, I'm famished. Let's go get some food," she muttered.

Meena declined, and with a shrug, Molly started up for the dining area. On her way there, though, she spotted a figure moving quickly and haphazardly against the crowd of people. The bulky stature and long strides made her suspect that it was Seb. Sure enough, when the face of the figure turned its head in her direction, Seb's stoic features met her eyes. Thankfully, he didn't see her, and he turned the next corner.

A creeping chill ran up her spine. What was he up to? She glanced around briefly; no one seemed to be watching her, so Molly took in a deep breath and marched in the direction of where Seb had went.

She immediately realized that she had never been down that corridor before. Paintings lined it, as did every other hallway in the school, but this one seemed warmer and friendlier. One woman with caramel skin peered at Molly curiously.

"Aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" She asked, not unkindly. Molly shrugged.

"Trying to see if a friend wants to join me," she replied with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders.

The woman smiled at her and nodded. "If you ever have trouble finding your way around the school, just call for Amelia. I'm _usually_ free to help students."

Molly thanked her, then hurried down the hallway. She drew her wand from her cloak just in case. It made her feel safer. 

Just as Molly was about to give up the search, a deep voice filled with urging met her ears. Immediately after turning a corner, she saw Seb and Jim standing in an unusually bare corridor, discussing something in low voices.

"We have to act quickly, Jim. We have two years left at Hogwarts to carry out the plan that the Dark Lord has intended for us to carry out."

Jim's expression was brooding. "It's plenty of time to get rid of all those filthy Mudbloods and blood traitors," he growled. He pulled out his wand and inspected it carefully. "When it does happen, I'll have a hell of a time doing it, too. That little Una is mine, and so's Herbert." He was caressing his wand with an almost loving touch now. His face was arranged in a cross between peacefulness at his disturbing thoughts and lust for blood. Molly shrank back against the wall, terrified that her heartbeat would give away her position.

It was sickening to hear those words come from his mouth. She actually thought she was about to vomit.

"Year six. That's when we should do it. Teachers won't expect a thing. If we're golden for the rest of this year and the beginning of next, they'll be in the dark."

"They should be in the dark anyways."

Seb scowled. "You know what I mean, you bloody cow," he snapped. Jim barked out a laugh that sent another sliver of ice down Molly's spine.

"You're too much, Sebby, darling," Jim cooed, patting Seb's cheek affectionately.

Seb sniffed. "Don't make me feel like I'm five," he grumbled, though he looked borderline sheepish.

Jim's grin suddenly got wider. "The day of blood is soon coming for Hogwarts. When that day comes, you and I will be floating in the rewards the Dark Lord will administer to us for our hard work," he announced. Molly's eyes widened in fear, and she stumbled back a little.

"You and I will be killing Sherlock and his little friends first, correct?"

Jim nodded. "I want Molly. If she gives me a kiss, I _might_ make her death painless," he hummed.

"Just _might_?"

He shrugged. "She's a little whore. She's dated nearly everyone in this school by now. Her punishment will be swift."

Lightheaded, Molly began to run back to where she had came. Echoes of the boys' laughter followed her, and she could feel tears trickling down her cheeks. She didn't even care about the fact that her feet were pounding against the floor and they had probably heard her.

Once she felt she was safely away from them and was in one of the main hallways again, Molly collapsed against the wall to steady herself with deep breaths. She passed a hand over her face wearily. There was no way that any of what they had said was true; they were only...fantasizing? Then again, they had both sounded pretty sure of themselves. Who was this Dark Lord anyways? 

"What are you doing outside of dinner, Molly?" A deep voice rumbled in front of her. With a yelp, Molly jumped and looked around furiously. Sherlock was standing in front of her, looking slightly perplexed. 

Molly bristled a little. "What are _you_ doing outside of dinner, Sherlock?" she replied briskly.

At her words, Sherlock flushed. "I'm...um, looking for you. I was worried because I didn't see you at dinner like you normally are," he said quickly, not quite meeting her eyes.

Molly softened slightly at his endearing demeanor. His moments of vulnerability were few, so Molly cherished them. "I was just...wandering the halls. I was bored and not really hungry," she lied. Sherlock's expression became clouded with suspicion, but before he could say anything, there were giggles echoing from the other end of the hall. She didn't want Sherlock to get involved in any way about what she had just heard. It was for the better.

"Shh! We're going to get caught, and if Snape gets us, we'll be doomed to slug's slime for an eternity." Was that...John?

"Ah, sod Snape. He's a prick." Mary?

Sherlock seemed to be equally confused by their situation, Molly noted with satisfaction.

"Well, yes, the entire school is aware that he's a prick, Mary. Even the teachers agree with that statement. No need to state the obvious." Yep, definitely John. 

"Shut it, or I'll tip us off to Snape myself," Mary's voice said gleefully.

There were sounds of kissing then, and Molly could see from their position that the couple was really, _really_ invested in that kiss.

Slowly, a self-satisfied smirk crossed Sherlock's features. It didn't take Molly much more time to draw her own conclusions about the two. 

When had John and Mary become a thing?

As the kiss grew more and more intense, a moan punctuating the air now and then, Molly's smile got wider and wider.

"You two had better slow down. Don't want to pass out from lack of oxygen, do you?" Sherlock finally called out.

John and Mary split apart quickly, one cursing loudly and the other gasping in surprise, then glanced in their direction. Even from other side of the hall, Molly could see the guilt on their faces. She giggled as she waved at them.

"Wh-what are you two doing here?" John stammered out, his blush fading not in the least. 

"Strolling."

"Do you regularly stop to spy on couples kissing in the hallways, Sherlock?" Mary huffed.

"Just you two. By the way, since when have you two been making out in the corridors?" 

The rest of the group finally caught up with each other and started for the dining hall, just in time for dessert. Molly glanced at Mary only to see her smiling happily and holding hands with John.

They were adorable.

"We've been together for about a month now," John admitted shyly, rubbing at the back of his neck. At Molly's infuriated noise, he added, "We were going to tell you when we were comfortable with it. Surprise."

"Don't be cheeky," Mary chastised gently. She turned her attention to Molly and gazed at her tenderly. "You're not actually mad, though, are you?" She murmured.

At this, Molly shook her head with a grin. "No, 'course not. How could I be angry with you two?"

For the rest of the evening, they all chatted, and when they finally parted, it was with a cheerful farewell.

The next morning brought a solemnity to Molly's usually sweet personality.

Normally, she never received owls. Letters were very rare, and gifts were merely a fantasy. That morning, though, an owl swooped in bearing a message for Molly. She untied it from the owl's outstretched leg, paid for the postage, and watched the owl soar back through the open window to the skies beyond before turning her attention to the letter.

_Ilea Render, to Molly Hooper._

_DO NOT OPEN IN COMPANY OF OTHERS._

Molly blinked, but she shoved the letter deep into her pocket, trying to ignore the slightly ill feeling at the sight of the handwriting. It seemed painfully familiar.

Once she was safely curled up in bed that night, Molly took out the note, buried herself underneath her covers, lit the tip of her wand, and passed it over the message.

_My dearest Molly,_

_I have gone into hiding. I'm no longer safe, even here in Paris. My life was in danger at Hogwarts because of...well. You know of the two boys who are often passed off as troublemakers. That's why I moved. It pained me immensely to leave Hogwarts and to break off our relationship; I miss you with the burning of a hundred suns. I had to do it, though._

_The threats started off mild enough. If I didn't help them with their twisted little plans, then they would've beaten me to a pulp. I could've easily taken them, so I wasn't worried about that sort of threat. When I wouldn’t comply, they slipped notes into my personal items: books, bags, and even—I'm still troubled as to how they managed this feat—undergarments. While that was humiliating, I wasn't about to agree to their disgusting plots._

_That's when it all went sideways. My books were suddenly destroyed, my wand nearly snapped in half. Threats—some were about beating you as well, others were so vile I dread to pull up memories of them—were increasing in violence, and some were eventually turned to you._

_The tipping point was when my sweet darling owl Amber was killed "unknowingly" and a note bearing a promise of a deed most wicked against you, my darling, was posted on the wall next to my bed, all on the same day. I was scared and angry and sickened out of my mind, but I had to comply. They were absolutely going to do what they had promised to do against you if I didn't meet their demands._

_I blackmailed, I stole, I threatened, and I bullied. All of that was when you had your back turned. I lied to your face on many occasions. None of them were lies about how I loved you. I love you with a passion that goes unmatched. Forgive me._

_I was in the wrong, yet I continued. For those boys. For your safety, my safety, and the safety of my family. Those boys...don't trust them._

_One day, I stopped. I stopped listening to their demands for more evil doings, and I paid for it greatly. I'm still paying for it greatly. They harmed me, Molly, and they harmed my family. They killed my younger sister._

_Because I fear that they're tracking my mail, and undoubtedly they are, since I know about their deepest, darkest secrets, I am using a false name. We can't be in touch any longer. If something severe ever happens to me...I don't want you involved, my love._

_Molly, I beg of you, do NOT trust Jim Moriarty and Seb Moran. They're Dark Wizards; they'll do anything to get whatever wicked thing they want so they can roll around in "riches" likes pigs in slop. Don't play their evil games. It's not worth it. Don't trust a word they say. They're also discussing a say of blood at Hogwarts...something about a "true cleansing"...my memory is ragged right now. They were also gloating over the death of your mother like scoundrels. They sounded pleased._

_I love you very, very much. I want to return to England and wrap you in warmth and affection, but I can never return to England. I will always be on the run. If I stop for too long, one day...I may not live to see the sunset._

_Please, my light, stay safe. Be practical. Trust your friends and get rid of Seb and Jim any way you can. You've got a lot to live for._

_I believe in you._

_Send your friends my regards._

_Yours only,_

_Irene Adler (Ilea Render)_

~*~

"It's a gorilla."

"No, John, I think it looks more like a chimpanzee."

"They're _literally_ the same animals."

"Mary, where the hell did you read that?"

Molly observed her friends bantering back and forth with a tiny smile on her features. It was endearing to see them arguing over something as simple as a cloud's shape.

It was nearly summer vacation. Molly would be off to her own home, maybe paying a couple of visits to Mary and Meena now and then. They didn't live too terribly far away from her.

Well, they would've if she hadn't discovered Floo powder and learned how to ride a broom.

In only a couple of days, she'd be free to do whatever she pleased. It still kind of stunk that she had homework to do over the summer.

She wriggled into a sitting position on the quilt that Sherlock had graciously provided for them and rummaged through a bag before pulling sandwiches and juice out. Mary stopped mid-sentence and eyed the floor precariously.

"Where'd you nick that?" she asked. Molly noted with satisfaction that Mary snatched a sandwich anyways and bit into it ferociously.

"Ah...I have my ways," she giggled. John took one without a word, and Molly offered a couple to Sally and Meena who were sitting opposite of the tree they were all sat underneath, looking out at the glassy water of the lake as they chatted quietly, and they turned down the offer gently. Sherlock made no movement to reach for the food. Instead, his eyes were still focused on the sky.

In all of the six years that Molly had known Sherlock, she found herself thinking, she had never noticed that age looked good on him. His curls were a little longer and wilder, eyes brighter, and a shadow of stubble was beginning to cover his face. His lips and cheekbones were quite exquisite as well.

Overall, not bad looking.

He turned in that moment, glancing up at her inquisitively. "What?" He murmured. Mock annoyance laced his tone, but the hint of a smile shone on his lips. "Staring isn't polite, Molly."

Softly, Molly smacked his arm then turned her head towards the rest of the school grounds. She could see some students playing a game of Quidditch against a few teachers who, oddly enough, weren't doing so well. A couple was sitting and making out by the shore of the lake, and they shrieked and leapt apart when they were doused with water by the giant squid. Laughter broke out around the grounds at the sight. Molly couldn't keep herself from giggling as well.

It was a beautiful day.

"Molly." Sherlock's warm hand enclosed hers, and she glanced down in surprise to see him staring up at her almost pleadingly. There was another something in his expression, but she couldn't put a name on it. "Come take a walk with me? I need to ask you a favor."

She frowned. "Can't you just ask me here? I'm too comfortable, I don't want to move," she complained. She wasn't really joking, but if Sherlock pulled those puppy eyes...

Ah. There they were. " _Please_ , Molly? It'll only take a moment of your time," he sighed. "I promise."

Molly stayed seated for one beat, two. Then she stood in defeat, and Sherlock leapt to his feet. He was still holding her hand in the most charming way as he directed her away from the group. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Mary smirking at them knowingly, John was giving her an apologetic look, and Meena and Sally were looking slightly lost about the whole situation. Apparently they thought they had missed something, because Meena mouthed something to Mary, and Mary nodded her head with an even wider smile. Meena then looked back to Molly and whooped loudly, making a rather inappropriate gesture with her fingers. Sally scowled at Meena and said something sharply before glancing sympathetically in Molly's direction.

Another laugh burst from Molly, and she felt herself being tugged away more insistently by Sherlock. They finally settled in a shaded area by trees beside the lake, and Molly could barely see the outline of her group of friends. There weren't any other people nearby either, so it was fairly quiet. The beating of the water against the rocky shore was calming. Sherlock was staring at her intensely.

They sat in silence for a while. Sherlock eventually took in a deep breath and started to talk, nervous and fast. "I've known you ever since our first year here at Hogwarts. I think that you're an intelligent, very kind girl, beautiful as well. I know...we haven't really had the best of times, and I apologize for that. I'm arrogant and self-centered, and I never take other's needs and wants into consideration. I'm, to put it short, a prick. I've been like that to you, to John, to Mary...name them, and I'll bet ten Galleons that I've picked them apart, piece by piece, strand by strand, until they're a husk of who they used to be.

"But there are the ones who can stand me, who've pulled me underneath their wing. At first, I thought Snape was the best teacher by far in the school. He dealt punishments when they were needed—or so I thought—and didn't try to go back and help those who were stu...falling behind." He paused for a moment to catch his breath and to probably let his correction sink in. He'd certainly made a lot of progress from when she had first met him. "I realized later, after our detention, that I only liked him because he was the mirror of myself. It made me uncomfortable with that fact, so I started to loathe him. I still can't stand him, and I'll be glad to be out of Hogwarts next year. It still makes me a bit sick to think that I used to be his...well, clone."

He leaned closer, his eyes remorseful. Molly took in a sharp breath. She could feel his clothing brushing softly against hers. "But I've changed. You stood up to me and _for_ me on multiple occasions. You forced me to take care of my studies and to not stop caring, even though you knew I was far, _far_ ahead of the others. You've _made_ me change, and I used to hate that fact. I wanted to be bitter. I wanted to loathe everything and everyone. Molly, ever since I've met you...you've been changing me for the better. I notice nature more often, I try to not scrape people's souls to shards with my harmful deductions. You, Molly...you're amazing."

Molly's breath had completely left her. Tears were burning in the back of her throat, but she couldn't understand why. What was Sherlock trying to say?

Sherlock's hand tentatively came up to cup her cheek. Instinctively, Molly leaned into his touch, and he smiled nervously at her. "I've liked you from the start, Molly Hooper. I was just too much of an idiot to realize it. I can tell that you like me, too. You loved Irene, I know, and if you'd like to wait for her to come back, I understand." He glanced away for a moment, his lips pressed together tightly. 

"So what are you saying?" Molly whispered, her voice choked.

Sherlock took in a sharp breath. "I-if you'd like...I'd like to get some coffee with you sometime at Hogsmeade? Maybe...maybe more than that, if you're okay with it," he burst out quickly, cheeks flaming.

A slow grin spread on Molly's features. "You want to go on a date with me, is what you’re saying," she teased.

"Damn it Molly, I'm trying my best here." He scowled at her but nodded. "But yes, I'd like to go on a...date," he muttered.

"Okay."

He looked up from his feet in surprise. "Really?" Molly could see the barely leashed excitement on his face. She giggled.

"Really," she cooed.

Sherlock licked his lips nervously. He glanced around their surroundings again. The breeze floating between the leaves of the trees was rather nice. The giant squid played out in the lake happily, the sound of water splashing playing in the background peacefully. His gaze was on her again, and Molly leaned forwards to wrap her arms around his waist. He sucked in a breath.

"May I...kiss you, then, since we're dating?" He barely breathed.

Molly's lips quirked upwards in amusement. "You must _really_ be nervous," she joked.

Sherlock scowled again. "It's not as easy as you think, Molly," he grumbled.

"You know, you should smile more than you frown. You look way better that way."

Sherlock's lips were pressed against hers firmly then, and Molly gladly stopped talking to kiss him back eagerly.

Molly could barely hear the cheers from their friends way back at the tree in congratulations for the new couple.

~*~

Sherlock had been missing for three days, now.

The first day hadn't worried her much. She had been too involved with her studies, and even though it bothered her a little that she didn't see him at lunch or dinner that day, he had been at breakfast, looking worse for wear, so she figured that he had gotten sick and gone to the Hospital Wing. 

When she had asked one of the Slytherins where Sherlock was, however, they merely gave her a questioning look and shrugged. "Haven't seen him 'round for a while. Dunno where he ran off to. Have you checked the library? He likes to hang out around there," they offered apologetically. 

The library had a few stragglers in the later hours. Sherlock liked the library in the evening, since nobody else wanted to be in there, as their beds were a stronger calling than that of mildewy old pages, but he was nowhere to be found today.

_He'll show up tomorrow_ , Molly reasoned with herself worriedly.

He wasn't anywhere to be found, though, the next day.

By the third day, Molly was worrying herself sick. The professors were beginning to notice that Sherlock was missing; some were concerned, others were annoyed that he was playing hooky.

Her friends had started prompting Molly gently to let go of it. "Sherlock's just hiding out somewhere, playing one of his pranks. You can't let yourself get gray hairs early over something like this, darling. You're going to tire yourself out before he shows up again," Mary had told her during one of their classes together. Molly clenched her jaw.

"The thing is," she said slowly, "is that he doesn't _play pranks_. He's changed, but he hasn't changed that much."

Mary bit her lip. "Guys are just like that. They're unpredictable. Help me with this bird, it won't change into a safety pin..."

Molly was glad for the change in subject.

By the next week, Molly wasn't sure who was a bigger talk subject: Sherlock and his magnificent disappearance, or some kid with circular glasses and a scar. Molly couldn't be bothered to remember his name.

Oddly enough, Molly had barely seen Jim and Seb around. When she had, they both had satisfied if tired smiles on their faces. It disturbed her.

She mulled over all of this as she marched down the hallway. It worried her that no one else seemed to be expressing as much concern as she was over these things. What's-his-face seemed to occupy many of the student body's mind, including those of her friends. Scowling, Molly turned her attention to her bag and dug through it to make sure she had that damned report about healing draughts for Snape.

Over the course of seven years, Molly had improved at navigating Hogwarts. Not once was she late to a class, save for the fighting incident, and she even found passageways and rooms that she was sure not even Dumbledore knew about.

Of course, when Molly was distracted, she tended to veer off of course a little.

She was certainly distracted at the moment, so she turned around the wrong corner. She knew immediately that she had turned the wrong way, because the hallway wasn't drafty, nor did it smell of rot—she wasn't anywhere near the dungeons, as it turned out.

Oh, well. She figured that they wouldn't really take off her head for being late to _one_ class, especially Snape's. 

The patter of feet and the low rumbling of voices floated down the corridor. In a panic, Molly flung herself behind a rather convenient suit of armor. Thank god it kept silent.

"We won't be able to keep him for much longer, Jim. He's getting too weak, and besides, we need him to kill in front of the entire school. Someone's bound to find out eventually. Might as well get it over with."

Bile rose in Molly's throat. Oh god, it couldn't be them, it _couldn’t_ be them...

Jim barked out a laugh. "Sweetie, you're missing the whole _point_. We're creating a show, you see. Holmes loves being the center of attention, so we'll wait for the right moment, and then..." He must've made some cruel gesture that she couldn’t see, because then it was Seb's turn to laugh. "Anyways, he'll get what he deserves in due time. Patience is everything. Sherlock will die in the spotlight. He'll _love_ it."

Molly peeked from behind the metal, and she saw JIm pacing back and forth in front of a space on the wall, muttering something under his breath. Seb was looking on in bewilderment. Suddenly, the wall slid apart, and the pair glanced at each other before nodding and ducking inside.

The rusty armor creaked quietly. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" It wheezed.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a valiant knight instead of collecting dust in a school for wizards?" Molly demanded, slightly annoyed that it even thought about talking to her.

The suit made a clanking noise that may have been a laugh. As Molly hurried away to enter the rapidly closing space, she heard it say, "Fair enough, girl. Fair enough."

Her first thought when she entered the room was _dark_.

Her second thought? _This was a big mistake_.

The torches that lined the walls flickered on slowly, one by one. The room was huge, with a vaulted ceiling and old wooden bookcases leaning against the walls. A carpet was spread in front of an empty hearth, and a table stood near the door, covered with a black tablecloth.

It all would've been charming had it not been for the figure tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Seb was staring down at the person while Jim leaned against the mantle of the hearth that was at the other end of the room, taking in the scene with a look of glee on his face. Neither of them had noticed her entrance, thankfully, so she slipped underneath the tablecloth. She peered out to watch with a growing sense of dread sickening her stomach.

"Nice to see you again, Holmes." Seb nudged the figure's foot with his shoe roughly.

The figure didn't respond.

"Oi, I'm talking to you, arsehole!" This time, Seb didn't hold back in kicking the figure.

The figure grunted and lifted his head. Molly nearly screamed, so she bit her tongue instead.

It was Sherlock. He looked haggard and worn, and blood caked his exhausted features. Bags lined his eyes, and a shadow of stubble covered his face. He licked his dry and cracked lips before he said in a hollow voice, "I didn't believe it important to listen to you. Interesting, isn't it, when the roles are reversed?"

Seb's hand cracked across Sherlock's face.

_You idiot_ , Molly wanted to scream, _You're going to get yourself killed_.

A quiet snicker came from Jim, but he made no movement forwards. "Hold yourself steady there, mate. All in due time," he reminded his partner in crime gently. Seb nodded stiffly and stepped back.

"So, Sherlock," Jim growled harshly. He sauntered towards his prisoner, caressing his wand in a languid fashion. He rounded on Sherlock to face him, so Molly couldn't see his expression. Sherlock's eyes darted quickly to Jim's wand apprehensively, and the twitch in his expression made Molly realize...he was afraid of Jim's wand. He must have been hurt by it too many times to count. It was a wonder he hadn't been driven to insanity yet.

"I know... _we_ know that you have a bit of an inkling about our plans."

"You're still not going to get it out of me about how I found out. Can't believe you're still trying and haven't killed me yet."

Jim's laugh scraped across the walls chillingly. "Just you wait. I can promise that you'll be going out with a bang. The center of attention, you'll be, and then it'll be those filthy blood traitors and Mudbloods next. I have a long list of who's not going to see their next birthday," he crooned. God, the way he said it, almost lovingly...

Sherlock snorted, best as he could with blood running from his nose form Seb's strike. "That's a stupid way of saying it. Doesn't flow easy," he sighed. Molly see he was trying for time, and time indeed was running out. 

"Watch it, dearie. You're at the tippy top of the list, so I wouldn't be mouthing off to me and Seb. In fact, we could act upon our threats at any time. There's not only us at Hogwarts that serve the Dark Lord. We have dozens of accomplices scattered throughout the school. All we have to do is give the word, and..." He snapped his fingers, and Sherlock flinched.

Molly felt around in her bag for her wand. She was going to need it.

"Now...if you'd like to live long enough to see your little sweetheart and your disgusting friends again, you're going to talk and tell us who told you about our plans. Or do you want them ending up like Irene Adler, or even as darling Miss Molly's mother? The muggle and wizarding police are all completely useless, you know. They didn't find a trace of us on her skin." He pressed the tip of his wand against the hollow in Sherlock's throat, and she saw him swallow hard. 

Sherlock finally worked the words out of his throat. "Never. Not in a million years. Torture me all you want, you're never going to get it out of me," he hissed, and narrowed his eyes in a challenge.

Jim tensed up at the venom in Sherlock's voice. "Suit yourself," he snapped, and he flicked his wand with a growl. " _Crucio_."

And suddenly, Sherlock was writhing in his chair, crying in pain, jerking the chair backwards in unbearable agony. Jim merely stood and watched, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter at the sight of Sherlock's torture. It looked as if every nerve in Sherlock had been set on fire. His eyes fluttered as tears trickled down his face, mingling with the sweat.

Molly's nails bit into her palms. She felt as if she was going to vomit. Her brain was flitting between spells. What was the one for a full body binding? What about the one Mary showed her, to make the opponent weak in the knees? She hadn't much time.

Once Sherlock stopped moving, barely able to pant for breath and whimpering with the pain, Jim stroked Sherlock's cheek with his wand once again. "Willing to confess?" He asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Bite my arse," he gasped.

Jim raised his wand. Filled with fury and sorrow by the treatment Sherlock had endured for too long, Molly had waved her own wand in his direction and whispered fiercely, " _Petrificus totalus_!", before Jim had a chance to open his mouth.

The reaction was immediate. Jim's eyes widened, his whole body went rigid, and he fell to the floor. His wand rolled away from him uselessly. Seb's leapt up in astonishment, and Sherlock looked equally as confused at this unexpected development. Realization and anger shone on Seb's face, and he pointed his wand around the room.

"Show yourself!" He cried out. "I know someone's in here, so come out now! I won't harm you!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered a series of insults underneath his breath.

" _Immobulus_." The immediate results were immensely gratifying. Like Jim, Seb was rendered immobile, standing in mid-walk. Molly watched as he teetered precariously before falling to the ground with a crash. Under different circumstances, Molly would've laughed until she cried, but now really wasn't the time.

She crawled out from underneath the table and rushed to Sherlock. Sherlock mouthed her name, and then he was saying it as she worked the knots loose, and then he was sobbing it against her shoulder as his arms wrapped weakly around her waist. She held him and shushed him, kissing his forehead and stroking his back.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Apparently, the suit of armor just outside of the room had heard the ruckus, so it called up a couple of teachers to check. Because those two teachers had been unable to get into the room due to some sort of Dark magic that had sealed the wall shut, they had called up the rest of the staff, and there they all were, along with a crowd of students wishing to see some action. 

Sherlock and Molly were escorted to the medical wing after the wall had finally slid apart, and Jim and Seb had been taken off to...well. They weren't going to be a threat any longer. It wasn't any of her business as to where the authorities were going to put those two. And honestly, she didn't much care to find out.

Sherlock and Molly had only been allowed to see their friends for a brief time, during which they were all very teary-eyed and emotional. She promised to tell them all the entire story when she was released.

The teachers had pressed for her first hand account of what she had experience, which was very little compared to what Sherlock had suffered through for so long; afterwards, they had sent an owl to her father with a letter briefing him on the events that had occurred, despite Molly's protests. Hours later, when it was dark out and the castle was quiet, Molly crept from her bed to visit Sherlock's. 

He wasn't asleep. He was drawn up to himself and staring out of the window. The moonlight should have glinted from his eyes and hair beautifully, but given how tired and malnourished Sherlock was, the shadows that fell over him were almost ghastly. 

"You're supposed to be in bed," he told her without turning his head.

Molly stepped closer, her hand hovering over his momentarily before dropping to her side. No contact, not yet. She didn't know what his boundaries were now, after his experiences. "Yes, well, you're also supposed to be asleep, yet here we both are."

His lips quirked up in amusement before falling flat almost instantaneously. "I can't bear to fall asleep. I'll be plagued with nightmares invariably for...well, for a while. It's alright. I've gone days without sleep, I can do it again." Sherlock finally turned to look at her, a look of unsettling peace on his features. "I'll be okay," he whispered, braving a smile on his features. 

Despite his efforts, she could see that he was trying to bury it all down deep inside of himself so she didn't have to see them. His feelings. She knew he hated them, but he didn't need to stay bottled up.

Ever so slowly, so Sherlock could pull away if he needed to, Molly reached out to him. Her hand brushed his upper arm, and she slowly lowered it until his hand was clasped in hers. "You don't need to be afraid, Sherlock. I'm not going to poke fun at you because you're suffering. And if you're afraid to sleep, that's okay. I'll stay up with you," she whispered.

Traitorous tears tracked down his face at her kind words. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Molly crawled into the bed with him. She cradled him in her arms, trying to soothe him. Ever so slowly, he relaxed against her, and he tilted his head to bury it in her neck, breathing shakily as the last of the tears subsided.

"Sherlock...how did you stay sane? The pain they put you through...it was unbearable to watch." Molly combed her hand through his curls, careful not to touch the bandage across his forehead.

There was a long pause. Tentatively, Sherlock's voice rang out into the stillness. "You. You were always there in my head, telling me to stay strong, to fight against their awful ways...because I knew that you'd be coming to get me. God, that sounds like an unbearable cliche, but it's true, Molly, Christ, it's _true_. You kept me from falling over over into madness. I didn't...I didn't like the thought of never being able to see you again. So I held on." Sherlock's arms pulled Molly close, as if he were afraid that he was going to be torn away from her again. Molly gazed down at him, feeling her own warm tears run down her face. "And you came. You found me, brilliant girl, you terribly beautiful girl, Molly...I love you so much."

Molly's bottom lip wobbled, and she took in a steadying breath. "I love you, too," she said back. Her voice didn't shake.

Seemingly satisfied, Sherlock went lax against Molly, and soon she felt his steady breathing and heard his quiet snores.

She gazed out of the window. "Sleep well, Sherlock," she said to him quietly, her voice tender with emotion.

He slept quietly in her arms through the night, with no dreams of terrible things.

~*~

"You still haven't told me. Told _us_." Meena's voice nudged Molly from her thoughts, and she turned to her friend and raised an eyebrow.

"Told you about what?"

"How your honeymoon went with Sherlock, of course," Mary offered playfully. Meena scowled and shook her head.

"You're a moron, Mary. No, I mean how you were found by all of those teachers that day."

"Yeah, I did, darling. Dozens of times. You just haven't listened," Molly pointed out.

Sally, who had been watching Sherlock and John play with the Watson’s daughter Annabelle, let out a scoff from the other side of the table, "So nothing's changed since our school days, huh?"

The girls all giggled, then lapsed back into silence. 

After a while, Mary ventured hesitantly, "So...all these years later. You and him are married. Meena's expecting with Sally, and John and I have a kid. Does Sherlock...does he ever have any nightmares about what had happened in seventh year?"

Molly played with the cup holding iced pumpkin juice, then she answered with a sigh. "Surprisingly enough, no. He's only had the nightmares when I'm not home and he actually sleeps. But...I think he's doing okay. I mean, he's expressed interest in having a child someday."

Meena glanced down at her swollen belly pointedly. "Well, this one's certainly been a taxing little thing. I had an ultrasound the other day. Coolest Muggle invention, if you ask me," she said excitedly. Sally smiled and kissed Meena's cheek gently.

"I'm sure that darling Samantha will be a sweet child, having you as her mother," Sally assured Meena. Meena looked rather pleased at that statement.

Mary patted Molly's back. "I'm sure you'd be a good mother too," she hummed.

"All in due time."

Her friend nodded and set off towards John and Sherlock, who were both trying their hardest to make little Annabelle giggle. John had magicked some flowers from the end of his wand and had offered them to Anna, but Sherlock had summoned his dog Patronus, which was currently nuzzling and barking at Annabelle. Sherlock had told her that he once owned a dog named Redbeard who had been very dear to him, so the form of his Patronus was no surprise. Not to be outdone by his friend, John summoned his lumbering bear Patronus, and the little girl played with both ghostly images with shrieks of delight before they disappeared.

When the animals had disappeared, Annabelle looked a little disappointed, so taking mercy on the men, Molly summoned her own Patronus, her darling cat Toby; he had passed away only a year ago, and Mary summoned her falcon Patronus as well.

Annabelle followed the animals around with renewed delight, and Sherlock was soon behind her, holding her from behind and resting his chin atop her head.

"We should get going, it'll be dark soon," she sighed, leaning back against him.

Sherlock made a noise of acknowledgement. "We should," he muttered. He stayed put though, which was completely fine with Molly.

She had no parents, since her father had also passed away peacefully in his sleep a year ago, her husband had been put through the worst pain imaginable, and they had no children. The whole prospect was bleak to her, but...she wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world.

Sherlock loved her, and she loved Sherlock. Her friends had stayed loyal and true, and she was safe wherever she went.

She hadn't done too bad, overall.

Sometimes, the best things only came after the storms and the struggles.

Molly was glad that it had all happened to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on tumblr (sirsquidfish-thefirst)!  
> Fair warning: it's way, way weirder than my Ao3 account, trust me.


End file.
